


Ghost in the Machine

by Faffabout



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alien Worlds, Amnesia, Angst, Animal Abuse, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Conditioning, Dissociation, Downward Spiral, Evil Morty is a dick, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcoholism, Manipulation, Mind Control, Mind fuckery, Minor Original Character(s), Prequel, Resistance, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, enslavement, no ships or pairings, pre-S1E10, this won't end well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-05-13 08:59:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14745822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faffabout/pseuds/Faffabout
Summary: Somewhere in the multiverse, a Rick awakens in a strange place with his mind restricted and his body no longer under his control. Unable to remember much besides his own name, he struggles to maintain his sanity as he attempts to find a way to fight back and maybe escape his situation. But the boy controlling him has other plans.(Prequel to Close Rick-Counters of the Rick Kind.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't seen many other fics exploring this concept, so for my first Rick and Morty work (and my first AO3 work in general) I thought I'd be self-indulgent.
> 
> y'all ready for some slow-build suffering

When Rick woke up, everything was... off.

He was not gradually roused out of unconsciousness, like awakening from sleep. It was a sharp pull, as if something shocked him into high alert. His eyes snapped open, his limbs giving a sudden twitch before going rigidly still.

He was sitting in a chair. It was metallic and uncomfortable, especially against his upright posture. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and copper, and a dull pain pounded through the back of his skull. Distantly, he could tell that the small room around him was made of steel panels and bright lights, but any further attempts to perceive his surroundings ran into a mental wall.

Something was wrong with his thoughts. It was as though everything was stuck, fixed in a steady state. He couldn't move, could barely think. It was like being spaced out or drunk, except the world was still in sharp focus around him and all his senses seemed to be in perfect operating order. But trying to process the information beyond surface level, trying to even do so much as bend a finger or voluntarily blink was like trying to push through an iron barrier bolted tight around his mind.

There was a face only a few feet from his. A boy, with short brown hair and a yellow shirt, staring at him without a trace of emotion. There was a niggling sensation in the depths of his mind that he should recognize the kid, but it was too faint to form anything coherent.

The boy wordlessly looked over the man, as if inspecting him. Leaning forward, he snapped his fingers together in front of Rick's face. He blinked, but did not react further. The faintest smirk appeared on the kid's face, and, apparently satisfied, he reached over to fetch something that had been lying a nearby table.

Rick watched him, uncomprehending. A small seed of panic was starting to grow in some corner of his mind, albeit subdued. He couldn't remember how he got here, and while something was incredibly familiar about the boy in front of him, he couldn't place why, or even _ask_ why. Something was preventing him from remembering, from thinking. For someone who was normally brimming with unparalleled intelligence, the force restraining his ability to think or act was frightening in a primal, subconscious way.

Meanwhile, the boy had picked up a strip of dark fabric with some electronics attached. He reached up with his other hand and pulled open his right eye, dislodging the flesh somewhat. Thin wires slipped out from under his socket, falling onto his face, although the boy showed no signs of pain or discomfort as he proceeded to plug in the wires to the held electronics. Afterward, his hand was free to pick up the second object that had been on the table, a remote control of some kind. On the remote, he flipped a small switch.

Something seemed to hum to life in the back of Rick's mind, and suddenly there was the presence of a pressure, cold and sharp and digging into his brain. The muscles in his limbs seized up as an almost electrical feeling shot down his spine. His breath hitched slightly.

The boy stood once more in front of him, finishing slipping the fabric over the back of his head. Now Rick could see that it was an eye patch, completely concealing the electronics as well as the boy's right eye. His remaining eye, just as emotionless as before, locked onto the man as he spoke.

“Stand up.”

_stand up_

Rick froze for a microsecond. It was as though there was an echo of the command in his brain, hearing it not just in sound but in thought, wrapping tight around him and pulling like a puppet string. It was overpowering in a way he wasn't prepared for. Without thinking he immediately rose from his chair. At his full height, he practically towered over the teenager in front of him, but there was no sense of empowerment granted with it.

A flicker of surprise seemed to pass over the boy's face, just for a second, before returning to the neutral, controlled state of before. Hardly skipping a beat, he continued. “Walk five steps to the right.”

It was exactly as before. The duality of what Rick heard and what he _heard_ , directing him to action. Part of him tried resisting this time, but before he could so much as even register the command, his body was already on its way towards executing it. There was a sense of immediacy that seized him every time the boy spoke, blocking out all else. He _had_ to follow the instructions.

He had to, but he didn't want to. Did he? Without his ability to think straight, though, it was nigh impossible to wrench back control from… whatever this was. Every time he tried, it just made his head throb even more.

The boy with the eye patch continued observing the man's almost robotic responses, and kept giving brief commands, all of a simplistic and locomotive nature. Every single one, Rick executed near-flawlessly. None of them required any higher thinking, just _go there_ or _do that_ with no clear purpose behind each action. To be honest, a distant part of Rick was starting to get pissed off by it. What did he look like, a fucking dog?

Acting independently still seemed out of the question, but the longer he was awake, the easier it was to think. Like he was adapting to his locked-in state, little by little. But it still wasn't enough. Far from enough. This whole situation was deeply unsettling and he still couldn't piece his thoughts together to figure out _what the actual fuck_ was going on.

His ongoing internal freakout distracted him to the point where he almost didn't notice the boy hefting something up and walking towards him.

“Hold this,” the boy said, shoving the piece of machinery into his hands. Without another word, he turned around and slipped out of the room, leaving Rick alone.

Rick's fingers had clenched automatically around the object the moment he was ordered to, and, despite a flicker of curiosity, he couldn't make himself look down to examine it in more detail. The cold knifepoint sensation in his brain hadn't yet vanished-- the connection was still present, if not currently in use. Still, the respite from the stream of commands was much appreciated, no matter how temporary.

Minutes trickled by and the boy hadn't yet returned. The chunk of machinery was heavy in Rick's arms, and there was a distant ache forming in his limbs. Rick was starting to piece together that whoever the kid was, he recognized him in some way, some oddly significant way that hadn't yet clicked.

It was also rather apparent that the boy was responsible for his current condition, or at least actively exploiting it, so he could just fuck off forever for all Rick cared. In the meantime, he attempted to quash his growing terror and instead resumed straining at the hold over his brain, however uncooperative it was being at the moment.

It would be mildly tempting to just give up by this point, if it weren't so laughably opposed to who Rick was. Screw what the kid had in mind for him, he was going to do what he wanted even if it killed him.

Brute forcing past the mental block didn't seem to work, so this time he attempted to be a little more subtle, poking and prodding to determine weaknesses. Right now his body was still acting on the last command to hold the object. But, perhaps, he could slowly coax himself into acting differently, as long as it was still “correct”. After all, the kid didn't say to _keep_ holding it…

Focusing as much as he could on that loophole, Rick struggled to move. After a painfully long delay, he felt something give way, and his fingers twitched slightly. With a twinge of disbelief, along with a rush of exhilaration, he pushed harder and his arms gave a weird half-jerk motion, once again after a delay. Slowly, he forced his arm muscles to relax, bit by bit, and the object started to slip out of his hold.

He dropped it at the same time the boy walked back into the room.

A smashing, clattering noise rang through the room as it struck the ground, denting its external shell and who knows what else. The boy stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the damage. He had been carrying some sort of advanced toolbox and a clipboard, but they hung loose in his arms, temporarily forgotten. There was an uncomfortably long pause, before his gaze shifted up to Rick. The expression on his face was unreadable.

And Rick didn't know why, but a sharp jolt of fear ran through him, filling him with _oh shit, oh shit, does he know, does he realize_ and his minor act of rebellion seemed ridiculously, suicidally irresponsible in hindsight. He should have waited, tried something different, done something that wasn't so fucking _obvious…_

The teenager stared at Rick in a rather unsettling way. Some unknown emotion passed over his face, causing his visible eye to narrow and facial features to tense, then a split second later he slipped back into a mask of complete neutrality.

“I didn't say to _drop_ it,” the boy said, an edge of exasperation seeping into his voice, placing the box and clipboard on the ground as he bent over to pick up the object.

And maybe it was because it was the first thing he said that didn't sound utterly toneless, but something about the way his voice had sounded just then seemed to trigger a connection deep in Rick's mind. It took only a few seconds before it clicked.

Morty. The kid's name was Morty.

And just as soon as that piece of information slid into place, everything became static once more, like the leak in his memory had been dammed up as soon it had sprung. He couldn't help the sheer frustration that followed. No, _no_ , he had been so close to getting _actual answers_ for once.

But he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. After all, his brain clearly wasn't feeling like listening to him today.

Meanwhile, Morty had placed the damaged machine and clipboard up on the table, and he was now digging around in his toolbox. He hadn't given any new orders to Rick, leaving the man to just stand there like a robot on standby. The small success Rick had found earlier already felt like a fluke, as his body snapped right back to being completely unresponsive the moment the boy reentered the room.

And he still couldn't tell if Morty suspected him or not, at least not entirely. Dropping that machine part could easily be interpreted as an unexpected glitch, a flaw in the control the boy held over him. Which, admittedly, wasn't exactly a wrong assessment to make.

Whatever the case was, Morty didn't seem to be investigating further, although it was nearly impossible to tell what he was thinking. This kid could pull one hell of a poker face when he wanted to. That was another thing that didn't seem to add up with what little memory he had, a disquieting uncanny valley effect of behavior that seemed _not quite right_.

Morty had his back turned to Rick, and was extracting various tools and components from the toolbox and placing them on the table. He seemed completely preoccupied, but after a moment his head tilted slightly and there was suddenly a sharp jerk in Rick's mind.

The teenager hadn't spoken a single word. But like being pulled by an invisible leash, Rick immediately walked up to Morty's side, and the only acknowledgment he got was a glance, followed by Morty promptly ignoring him once more.

Rick forced himself to snap out of the weird fugue state that had temporarily enveloped him. Fuck, it didn't even feel like words echoing in his brain that time. The message had been clear and instantaneous, a summon he hardly realized he was responding to until his body was already moving. Nonverbal commands, it seemed, were a faster and more direct method of control, a realization which sent a twinge of anxiety curling in his gut.

At least from this viewpoint he could see what was on the table. The machine part he had been holding looked like the chassis of some sort of robot or drone. Being dropped appeared to put a big dent in the top of it, but the interior looked remarkably unharmed, aside from a few dislodged wires that Morty had already fixed back into place. Aside from that, it was obviously incomplete, with large gaps on the interior where the power source and more advanced circuitry would probably be fitted. Rick couldn't tell whether Morty had assembled it himself or stolen it from somewhere, but either way he seemed to know his way around the thing.

Rick shifted his attention to the clipboard. He couldn't fully see what was written on it, but it looked a list of some sort, complete with markings within boxes and other miscellaneous notes in the margins. It faintly reminded him of a maintenance checklist. He could only guess why Morty had been carrying it.

He was just starting to wonder why Morty made him come over, when the kid put down the screwdriver he had been holding and turned to look at him. Rick still found that focused gaze unsettling, like he was being dissected from a distance.

Morty stared at him for a few long seconds. Then, he reached into his pocket and procured the remote from earlier. He pointed it towards Rick, pressing and holding a button along its side.

Something inside Rick seized up.

_[recalibrating]_

A wave of vertigo slammed into him. His thoughts were scrambled together into a slurry as a sharp buzz reverberated from the back of his brain, a prickling feeling moving along his synapses from back to front. For a moment he lost all sense of self, drifting in a mindless haze as his body tensed up, then gradually relaxed, like a computer restarting.

It wasn't _painful_ , exactly, but it wasn't a pleasant experience either. When the buzzing faded and he slowly came back to himself, the dizziness was so overwhelming that he could barely muster up a coherent thought, much less any resistance when Morty handed him the screwdriver and started to issue commands again.

Rick's mind was stuck but his body moved anyway, working on a mixture of instinct and orders and something else, maybe some automated aspect of this fucked up mind control, he didn't know. He had trouble concentrating anyway, moments bleeding and blurring together unpredictably. One moment he was screwing in some plating, the next he was holding open a slot while Morty fitted in a computer chip, then he was handing Morty something that was blue and glowing, it all jumbled together. He _really_ wasn't in a good state to handle this right now.

At some point they stopped, tools and components neatly returned to the box. The drone looked much closer to being completed now, but he didn't have the time or coherency to study what it could possibly be for, as Morty grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him out of the room. His body slackened slightly at the kid's grip, becoming almost docile as he was led down around the corner into a dim hallway.

Rick's disorientation was starting to fade by this point, and he slowly but surely returned to some semblance of lucidity. He hadn't felt this out of it since he first woke up. What the hell had Morty done to him back there? Where was that asshole taking him now?

The hallway wasn't too long, thankfully. There were two doorways, but Rick didn't get a good look at what was past the first one, as Morty sharply yanked him into the room on their left. The smell of antiseptic was stronger in here, triggering a faint sense of unease in Rick. The lights were dimmed like the hallway, so while Rick could make out blocks and shapes stacked in the corners that might have been counters or tables of some sort, he couldn't make out the layout before Morty led him to what looked like a padded chair in the center of the room.

_Sit down_ was Morty's transmitted order, and his body followed it. This chair was leaned back and not nearly as uncomfortable as the previous one, but something about it was making Rick feel even more apprehensive. The kid looked him up and down with his single visible eye, that unreadable expression from earlier reappearing on his face, before he commanded again, out loud this time.

“Sleep.”

Almost immediately Rick's body went limp and his eyes started to close. And there was a pulling sensation as his grasp on reality started to slip, ignoring his sharp stab of fear and thoughts of _fuck no no NO_. Out of desperation he tried fighting it again, but all he could manage was a faint muscle spasm before everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update! Expect those to be infrequent in the immediate future. I do have something of a plot planned for this fic, but I'm currently too busy with work to write a new chapter for the next week or so, especially since I'm trying to keep them similar lengths.
> 
> (Also I don't have anyone to beta read this, so if you notice any typos or errors feel free to let me know.)

Rick was forced awake with a familiar jolt.

It took him less time to adjust to his surroundings compared to before. The first thing he felt was hazy relief that his body seemed to be all in one piece, although he distantly wondered why he hadn't expected it to be, and whether that said something about his current mental state.

His brain was still uncomfortably sluggish, so it took a few moments for him to realize that he was still in the same room he went to sleep in. He couldn't help but feel somewhat bitter that he remembered his last hour or so of consciousness with relative clarity; of _course_ his mind could retain _that,_ but recalling how he got into this nightmare in the first place was an impossibility.

Clearly time had passed while he was unconscious, although he wasn't sure how long exactly. The main differences between then and now were that the lights in the room were adjusted to be much brighter, the chair's reclining angle had been tilted forward somewhat, and his wrists had been strapped down.

Also, something heavy was clamped around his head.

The unease returned like a slow trickle down his spine. Rick would have used his limited brainpower to try to deduce what the thing on him was, as well as why he could feel a faint thrumming coming from it, but his thoughts were derailed the moment he noticed Morty.

The teenager, still wearing the eye patch, was standing in front of a terminal in the corner of the room. He wasn't looking at Rick, instead interfacing with a holographic display in front of him. From this angle Rick couldn't quite make out what was on it. There was definitely a few different tabs the kid had open, one of which looked like a chart with an irregular sine wave pattern graphed out along its axis, another containing a completed loading bar, and a third one filled with strings of unreadable numbers and text.

Rick didn't have time to decipher it, as Morty pressed a button on the terminal causing the whole thing to flicker out and close. The thrumming sensation around Rick's head faded along with it. Morty turned his attention towards Rick, walking over to the chair in a few short steps.

The boy's expression was almost bored as he undid the straps around the older man's wrists. After that, he reached up and gripped the object around Rick's head with both hands, pressing a switch to loosen it before pulling it off roughly. Rick could now see it was a bulky helmet, with thick cables attached to the top and trailing onto the floor in loose coils, eventually attaching back to the terminal.

He wasn't sure what Morty had been using it for. His first thought was brainwashing, or some other method of amplifying the kid's fucked up control over him, but he felt no different than before. If anything, he felt much more lucid, even though he still wasn't thinking at full capacity. But if the helmet wasn't for that, what else was Morty doing?

Rick tried not to let himself get paranoid about it.

Morty set the helmet onto the nearby counter before sending another mental order to Rick. It was somewhat indistinct, feeling kind of like a mixture of _get up_ and _follow me,_ and he felt a little dizzy for a split second as his body processed it. The delay was barely noticeable, however, and less than a half second later he stood up from the chair. Morty looked at him briefly before turning and walking out of the room. Rick followed.

They turned the corner and entered the other room that had been at the end of the hallway. This one seemed slightly larger than the other two rooms, although it didn't feel like it. This was mainly because it looked like a veritable warehouse of papers, boxes, and electronic components cluttering the floor, tall bookshelves and cabinets lined up against the walls. It would almost look neatly organized if it weren't so overcrowded. There was some sort of mattress or futon in the corner, flattened and rumpled with half-made sheets, and a door was built into the far wall, maybe a closet of some sort.

Rick didn't get a good look at everything, though, as Morty led him through into yet another room beyond that. This appeared to be the end of it, as aside from a large hatch in the nearby wall there were no other doorways. The relatively small and compact size of everything was starting to make him feel claustrophobic.

The final room had almost nothing in common with the other ones, aside from the metal walls and lack of windows. There was barely anything in it aside from a table, two chairs, and a few cabinets in the corner, although there also appeared to be a sink and a few appliances on a counter. Rick was faintly reminded of a kitchen, albeit a minimally stocked one.

Morty pulled out a chair from the table, indicating Rick to sit. With a faint mental tug the man did as ordered, and he recognized that these chairs were very similar to the first chair he woke up in, being metal and a tad uncomfortable to sit on. He wondered if Morty had simply reused one.

Rick's unsettled feeling was returning as he still had no idea why Morty brought him over here, and all he could do was watch silently as the teenager walked over to the cabinets and started digging through them, back turned to the older man.

Once again, Rick took advantage of the extended silence to try to piece together his situation, no matter how restricted his thinking was at the moment. He still had no idea what the fuck was going on, and he was starting to doubt he'd ever find out. But the immediate facts were that Morty had nearly complete control over his body and parts of his mind, and was readily abusing it. The questions of _how_ and _why_ were still open, and Rick was struggling to come up with answers, especially for the second one. What could Morty possibly want with him?

More importantly, resistance against the control was _possible_ , if Rick's drone-dropping stunt from last time had been any indication. And if resistance was possible, maybe there was a way he could subvert the control entirely, break free, as long as he kept experimenting. He still felt a creeping fear at the possibility of Morty noticing, though, and he knew he couldn't be that risky in the future if he wanted to preserve what awareness he had. He'd have to be a lot subtler.

And that… thing Morty had done to him, the way his mind almost felt like it was _rebooting…_ it was intensely disturbing and he wanted to avoid it as much as possible. Maybe he could get used to the sensation if it was forced upon him enough times, but he didn't know whether it happening repeatedly would eventually wipe him entirely. He'd rather not find out.

Morty was still intensely preoccupied with pulling things out of the cabinet and placing them on the counter top. Rick took the scene in for a moment before deciding that now was the prime time to try disrupting the control again. In a more careful manner, of course, but his apprehension made him feel somewhat jittery.

Rick Sanchez, scared of a teenager. In any other context he'd be laughing.

He tried to remember how he did it the first time, how he used a lull in commands just like this one. He recalled focusing on a loophole, but the order this time seemed to have a lot less wiggle room. You couldn't really interpret “sit down in this chair” as something else, especially something subtle enough it wouldn't gather attention. Then again, the first loophole had been a bit of a stretch too. Perhaps it was worth a shot.

Doubtfully, Rick tried imagining every loophole he could think of, including the fact he wasn't told to sit down indefinitely, the idea that he could shift around in his seat and still be considered sitting, maybe just twitching his leg a little…

But everything felt just as tight and locked in as before. If anything, the pressure only increased as he struggled to move. He tried a few more times before giving up. Damn it. Maybe it _was_ a fluke. Maybe the loophole idea didn't do anything at all, he had just misunderstood it, and there was some other factor he was missing.

Or maybe that's what the helmet had been for. Had Morty fixed up the “malfunction” in some way, like uploading a patch? That made a creepy amount of sense, and Rick wouldn't even put it past him.

He warily looked at Morty again. Technically, his body had never stopped observing the teenager, since Rick wasn't really in control of his head or eyes which seemed to wander without his permission, but he could still let himself get lost in thought. Morty had paused for a moment, seemingly staring at something in the cabinet, before pulling out a few labeled cans, popping one open. Rick smelled something faintly reminiscent of beef, and he was suddenly reminded of his painfully empty stomach as it growled. It was enough to completely distract him from what he had been doing.

Morty tipped it over onto a plate, which Rick was only just noticing had other food laid on it as well. The kid picked it up and put it inside a contraption that looked like a microwave, except Rick distantly recognized it as some alien appliance that was an objective upgrade over the primitive Earth version, being able to heat up food with perfect evenness and in mere seconds. Rick always thought that the inventor must have really hated Hot Pockets.

The door reopened with a beep and steam poured out, triggering his hunger pangs harder. Morty picked up the plate and a glass of water and walked over to Rick, placing them in front of him along with a fork. There was a chunky stew of some unknown meat piled in one corner, smelling like a cross between beef and seafood, along with cooked alien vegetables that he only faintly recognized. The last thing on the plate was something that looked like mashed potatoes, except tinted pink.

The meal was rather basic but Rick didn't find it within himself to care. With his memory being as unreliable as it was, he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. Because of that, he could _almost_ convince himself that it hadn't been an order when he grabbed the fork and started eating. Most of it had that faintly metallic aftertaste that all canned food had, but he was hungry enough that it tasted delicious anyway.

Morty watched him for a moment before walking back over to the cabinets, starting to rummage through them once again.

It took only a few minutes for Rick to clear his plate and drain his glass. He felt much better now that he had eaten, although he refused to feel an ounce of gratitude towards Morty. In a way, he supposed it made sense. If he was going to be controlled or used for something, as he was starting to suspect, he needed to be kept alive, and that meant addressing basic bodily functions. The chances of this being altruistic were laughably low.

Morty seemed to be preoccupied with assembling his own plate, so Rick decided to resume his earlier efforts. He pulled together his resolve, readying himself for a second attempt. He couldn't give up now, he had to figure out his limitations if he had any chance of getting out of this nightmare. He just didn't know what else he could try. Loopholes seemed to be out for the time being, and aimless struggling didn't seem to get him anywhere unless he was incredibly desperate, if his faint memories of moving before falling asleep were any indication. He wasn't sure if he could muster that sort of intensity on a regular basis. Part of him was currently too apprehensive anyway, he really just needed to calm himself down to figure things out, and…

Now there's a thought.

After a moment, Rick slowly forced himself to relax. It was rather hard considering he didn't have voluntary control over his breathing and therefore couldn't try the standard deep breaths, but he managed it by focusing his attention away from Morty, away from his current situation, just blankness. Like meditation. Very zen, almost.

He didn't relax too much, because if he went too far he felt himself slipping into a sort of fugue state, a mindless autopilot not unlike how he felt right after being recalibrated. He pushed down the twinge of fear at that thought and continued his attempts to remain calm. The control over him was like a cold barrier, the tip of a knife burrowing into the back of his skull, but when relaxed and focused, he could more easily find the weak points, the parts that the mind control wasn't putting as much work into maintaining.

He pushed, and for a few seconds nothing happened. Then, out of the corner of his eye, the fingers of his right hand twitched.

Hardly daring to believe it, he tried again, trying to keep calm and focused like before. After another delay, he pushed through once more and his wrist tilted to the side by a millimeter. Holy shit, it was _working_.

He attempted to do something a little more drastic, something more than just a pitiful twitch, but that's when his success ended. Everything seemed to freeze and the pressure around him reasserted itself, and his fingers seemed to relax back into their original position, no longer listening to him. He tried to ignore the disappointment he felt. Of course it wouldn't let him fight back _that_ much. Maybe if he did it in incrementally small steps, he could get somewhere. Maybe if…

“You're wasting your time, Rick.”

Rick froze.

Morty wasn't even looking at him, still facing the cabinets and heating up his own plate. But just when Rick was starting to pray that he imagined it, the teenager turned around, looking Rick dead in the eye. The man's stomach dropped.

He knew. _Shit_.

“If the hardware was that easy to circumvent, I wouldn't have installed it in the first place,” Morty continued, carrying his plate over to the table and sitting down across from Rick. “You're hardly even disrupting its main functionality.”

Rick was unable to do much besides stare blankly, feeling rather numb. He wasn't really surprised by the revelation, despite his wishful thinking otherwise. He only wondered at what point Morty had pieced it together. From the beginning? Just now?

Morty ate for a few moments before speaking up again, stabbing into a chunk of meat absentmindedly. “If you're wondering how I figured it out, let's just say you did a bad job hiding the fact you're conscious.” His unsettling gaze locked onto Rick again. “And if there was any ambiguity left, the brainwave readings made things rather clear.”

Rick loosely remembered the charts on the terminal from earlier. Guess he just learned the purpose of the helmet, then, or at least one of its purposes. The knot in his stomach twisted tighter. Rick didn't know what point the kid was building to.

“Honestly, I don't care either way,” Morty said, a faint smirk slipping onto his face. “You're not the one in control here. All your cooperation does is make things easier, mostly for yourself. So,” the smile abruptly disappeared. “I think you should stop while you're ahead.”

It perhaps the most thinly veiled threat Rick could recall hearing. The spiteful, reactive part of himself flared up unexpectedly, and if he could twist his expression into a glare he would. _Make me, you little shit,_ he thought, and he suddenly really hoped that Morty couldn't read his mind because that was a _really_ poor choice of words considering the circumstances.

Morty stared him down for a few seconds, before he simply turned his attention back down at his plate and picked at it idly. He didn't seem to be in a rush to finish, but it also seemed like he had no further interest in talking. He gave no indication one way or another that he heard Rick.

The rest of the meal continued on in complete silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I nearly had part of the alien cuisine they eat be some sort of bread, but I swapped it out for something else because not even Evil Morty is enough of a monster to eat canned bread


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look at that, this story isn't dead. Sorry for the delay, this chapter gave me really bad writer's block for some reason.
> 
> On the bright(?) side, this chapter ended up nearly three times as long as the previous ones. I considered splitting it up but figured that an extra-long chapter would be a decent apology for not updating, so enjoy!
> 
> And feel free to comment, I love feedback.
> 
> **Warning for violence, body horror, and animal cruelty in this chapter.**

Morty made him change his clothes after they were done eating.

Rick hadn't been paying much attention to what he had been wearing. With all the other shit going on, it just didn't feel all that important, especially because, from what he could tell, it was only a simple white shirt and sweatpants. He could faintly recall that it wasn't what he usually wore, but it still hadn't struck him as something to be worth thinking about. It wasn't like it was causing him any discomfort.

Which is why Morty deciding he needed a wardrobe change took him off guard. It just seemed to come out of nowhere, especially considering the… _conversation_ they just had.

The new clothing consisted of a long-sleeved black shirt, beige slacks, and a white lab coat, all of which Morty inexplicably had in his size. Aside from the shirt, the outfit felt distinctly familiar as his body pulled it on. Less comfortable than his previous outfit, although not by much. He probably wore stuff like this a lot in the past, but that recollection didn't exactly comfort him in any way. Why exactly would Morty want him to wear this?

Morty had left him alone in the room while the older man got changed. Rick had initially assumed it was for privacy, but his cynicism convinced him it was probably because the asshole had something else to be doing in the meantime. Rick doubted that someone who had casually stolen control of his bodily autonomy would give a damn about respecting his privacy, anyway.

Regardless, Rick tried using his brief time to himself to figure out what he was going to do next. There was no point in being stealthy with his resistance anymore, now that him being conscious was no longer a secret. Apparently it had never _been_ much of a secret in the first place, but he didn't like dwelling on that. He wished he could think clearer. In his current state, where each thought seemed to drag a few seconds too long, planning ahead and coming up with solutions was unreasonably difficult.

Morty probably wasn't lying when he suggested Rick wouldn't make any further progress resisting. Rick wouldn't be inclined to trust a word the little shit said if it weren't for the fact that his earlier experimentation seemed to suggest the same thing. Whatever the kid had done to control him was simply too strong to be thrown off entirely, merely interrupted in minor ways.

So that option was a dead end. Or not. Maybe making a nuisance of himself was the whole point. But what would Morty do if Rick kept resisting? If he had a way to suppress Rick's consciousness for good he almost certainly would have done it already. Was the kid just bluffing with that threat earlier, hoping to intimidate Rick into keeping quiet?

Ultimately it wasn't surprising that the time it took to change clothes was definitely not enough time for Rick to think of a coherent plan. And his earlier suspicion of Morty being occupied was proven correct when the boy walked back into the room, wearing a bulky looking backpack and holding a plasma gun. He was hauling a second backpack with his other arm, and he unceremoniously dumped it on the floor in front of Rick. Morty then turned his attention away from Rick and towards to the hatch on the wall, walking over and starting to input something into an adjacent keypad. Rick felt a jerk in his brain, ordering him to put the backpack on.

Rick's apprehension towards Morty was still there, a tight knot that wouldn't go away, but since that exchange at the table it was being overshadowed by a dark cloud of anger and spite. If there was one thing Rick knew for sure, it's that there was _no fucking way_ that he was going to roll over and take this. He wasn't going to let himself being intimidated by a _kid_ of all things, mind control be damned. Morty was going to have to deal with every second of Rick being a petulant jackass from now on, and that was _final_.

With that in mind, he resisted as firmly as he could against the command. It was petty and he relished in it. He knew there was a hard limit to how much he could disrupt the control, but he wasn't trying to do anything fancy. Just causing a delay would be enough, really. Make this whole thing as agonizingly slow as possible for both of them.

And surprisingly, it seemed to work this time. Looked like his experimental practice paid off, at least partially. His body stalled a few times in the process of putting on the backpack, muscles tensing and relaxing randomly. Never for more than a split second, not enough to stop the completion of the order, and he was starting to develop a headache doing it, but _damn_ if it wasn't satisfying.

Then Morty had to ruin it by speaking up. “You know I can tell when you're doing that now, right?”

Once again, the kid hadn't even bothered to turn around. Rick involuntarily froze up again at that toneless voice. _Fuck you,_ he immediately thought. So maybe Morty _could_ read his mind, except not really, because the way the kid had acted made it seem like he could merely tell when Rick was resisting without having to look. Probably another thing implemented by that freaky helmet. Rick still couldn't figure out if Morty could detect anything beyond that.

Whatever. Rick wasn't really concerned if his behavior was being noticed right now, anyway.

The backpack was rather lightweight against his body. Rick could sense that it was only partially filled, although its contents were still a mystery to him. Distantly he wondered if Morty's backpack was similarly equipped, although from the look of the kid's much bulkier bag he doubted it.

The boy finished entering some sort of code into the terminal, and there was a series of sharp clanking noises as mechanisms in the hatch unlocked. Morty then twisted a lever, and the hatch door swung open with a gust of cool, dry air.

Outside was obscured by a rocky tunnel, but Rick caught a glimpse of moonlight reflecting off of the rough terrain. It seemed as though the hatch, and by extension the whole bunker was built into the back of a small cave. Only a patch of night sky was visible at the other end, but it was enough for Rick to see a dense cluster of stars spread across the black expanse.

Morty stepped out of the hatch. Footsteps echoing, he walked to the edge of the cave before turning to face Rick, who was still standing inside. Rick felt another wordless command press into his brain, and his body started to move to follow the kid. The hatch automatically shut behind him.

But Rick wasn't having it. Looking Morty dead in the eye, he resisted as hard as he could, hindering his walk over in what was certainly the most blatant thing he'd done so far. His pace already wasn't that fast, so it probably added about six or seven seconds to the whole action by the time he finally caught up to Morty's side.

Morty gave him an incredibly deadpan look. The teenager said nothing for a moment, then his hand subtly moved. Rick didn't even realize Morty was holding the remote again before a button was pressed and everything seized up a second time. There was a stab of panic and Rick only managed to think _god FUCKING damn-_ before the recalibration hit him again.

Rick's body gave no objections to following Morty after that.

The dizziness faded somewhat faster than last time. Maybe, having experienced recalibration once already, Rick really _was_ starting to get used to it, at least a little. He struggled to comprehend his surroundings with his slowly returning focus. While not in a state to fully parse it, Rick had been faintly aware of them walking along a narrow ledge for at least fifteen minutes, with little sign of stopping.

Once his senses seemed to register in his half-lucid brain again, he was smacked with the sudden realization that _holy shit,_ that's a _really_ steep drop to their left. The ledge they were traversing was only a few meters wide, and while he was faintly reassured by the rock wall to his right, that didn't change the fact he was a few steps away from a hundred foot _cliff_. Was that cave built into the side of a mountain or something?

Morty didn't seem to give a shit about the danger, and consequently Rick-- or at least, his body-- didn't seem to either. At least the risk was somewhat mitigated that way, since his controlled body was unlikely to suddenly freak out and fall. It still didn't help with the anxiety the sheer height gave him. Shit, he'd thought he had gotten over his fear of heights decades ago.

Rick's eyes wandered enough to let him take in the view, which was rather expansive at this altitude. There was no sign of civilization anywhere on the horizon, only natural rock formations that resembled spikes and twisted spires, along with other mountain ranges in the far distance. Plant life seemed sparse and scraggly-looking. Despite being the dead of night, the moonlight was bright enough to illuminate the rocky and desolate landscape well enough. He soon figured out the reason for that; looking up, Rick could see two large moons hanging in the sky, one teal and one white, reflecting more light than he was used to.

Not only did this place look remote, it definitely wasn't on Earth. Somehow, Rick wasn't all that surprised.

Rick had no idea where the hell they were going, or what Morty was planning at the moment, so for the time being he put his stubbornness aside and tried to focus on his current situation. Maybe he could at least figure out what _this_ was all about. Specifically what was with the backpacks, the plasma gun Morty was still holding, and the whole hiking up a mountain on an alien planet thing.

He definitely wasn't going to put his petty resistance on hold forever, though. Even with the… recalibrating, or whatever Morty was doing to fuck with his head. A small part of him was still curling in on itself since it was so fresh in his mind, but he didn't feel as though it could deter him forever. After all, it didn't cause him any real pain, it was just sudden, uncomfortable, and rendered him too disoriented to fight back for a certain amount of time. That was it. That was all it was.

He still hated it, and was feeling queasy at the mere thought of it happening for a third time, but if _this_ was all Morty was going to do to stop him… he could make himself deal with it. Even if his memories weren't all there, Rick knew he'd dealt with worse.

Eventually they seemed to reach a flat, wider part of the mountain. Sitting in the center of the area was a boxy, nondescript computer terminal with a tall antenna attached to it. Morty came to a stop in front of it, activating the device with a few button presses. A small, non-holographic screen lit up, unexpectedly dim in the moonlight.

Rick was on standby, but he was close enough to watch whatever the kid was doing on the screen. The terminal looked like it was displaying a map, although there were a several different tabs Morty was switching between that changed the details of the display. One resembled a weather map, another looked primarily topographical, and a third had several symbols scattered across it. The more settings that were cycled through, the more minor the changes seemed to become, seemingly just shifting around the markers and changing the color code.

It didn't take long for Rick to deduce that the map was displaying some area of the planet. The altitude the terminal was stationed at was probably so it could receive the best signal, whether from some satellite or drone or something else. What Morty was looking for, though, he had no idea. And Rick doubted they geared up and climbed for nearly a half hour just for something as mundane as this.

Morty finally seemed to decide on a specific preset, the map suddenly turning blank. He tapped a key, and the bottom of the screen filled up with text. _Scanning_ , it displayed. The terminal made a whirring noise, and after a minute or two, colored dots started to light up across the screen, forming clusters.

After studying the screen for a moment, Morty turned his attention away from the still scanning computer. He took a quick glance at Rick, seemingly acknowledging the man's presence for the first time since they reached the terminal, and then looked away, sliding off his backpack and unzipping it. After a few seconds of rummaging, he extracted what looked like a metal box from deep within the bag. Morty held onto it with both hands, carrying it a few feet away from the terminal.

As Rick watched, wondering what the hell the kid was doing, he saw the box jostle a little.

With a completely impassive look on his face, Morty undid the latch, cracked open the lid on the box, and tipped it over. Something reddish and fleshy and _alive_ slipped out onto the rocky ground with a wet thud, and it happened so suddenly that Rick hardly noticed that it started squirming and making pitiful whining noises.

Aside from sheer disgust, Rick's first thought was along the lines of, _what in the actual shit IS that thing?_ It was hardly bigger than his head, but whatever it was, it just looked _wrong_. It was a body horror mishmash of tentacles and muscular tissue, it had too many eyes and mouths and its internal organs were on the outside rather than inside. It looked like a genetic experiment gone wrong, where someone tried to engineer a new organism and failed in every single conceivable way, except it somehow was still _alive_ and not blissfully dead like every law of nature said it should be. All it could do was churn and undulate in place, whimpering faintly, its many eyes bulging and darting around with fear.

Rick was so fixated on the thing that he almost didn't realize that Morty had walked over to him, pressing the plasma gun into his hand.

_shoot it_

His arm swung up and his fingers pulled the trigger before his mind could react.

The shot was perfectly aimed. A split second after the command was transmitted, all that was left of the creature was scattered chunks of viscera and a deep red splatter across the rough stone.

The mental pull had been sharper, more urgent that time. Even if he had somehow anticipated it, there had been almost no time to intercept it or fight back. He felt somewhat disoriented as his thoughts caught up to the present, the spike of adrenaline in his system starting to ebb away.

In his peripheral vision, Rick could see that Morty had a rather satisfied smile on his face.

Rick felt the horror creeping in as his arm slowly lowered. Not at killing the thing, because if he had full control over himself he'd probably have put it out of its misery anyway. No, it was more from the sheer _what the fuck_ factor of Morty _making_ him do it.

Just… what. Why the _fuck_ …?

He didn't have enough time to think over what just happened, as Morty knelt down and was retrieving two other things from his backpack. The first was an advanced-looking laser rifle, which the teenager held with an uncanny level of familiarity. Temporarily laying the weapon on the ground, he then pulled out the second object, which resembled a sleek white gun with a glowing green tube attached to the top.

Something seemed to click in Rick's mind upon seeing it, a memory once again sliding into place. That… that was a portal gun. The sight of the device didn't really bother him, but Morty _having_ one did. The immediate thought that passed through his mind was _where did he get that?_

Morty zipped up the backpack and slipped it back on, standing up with the portal gun in hand. He walked back over to the computer terminal, which now displayed _Scan Complete_ in bold letters. After the kid pressed a button, one of the many clusters lit up and the text was replaced with coordinates. Rick couldn't see exactly what Morty proceeded to input in the portal gun, but it was safe to assume it was the same as the numbers on the screen. The boy then flicked one last switch on the terminal, shutting it off entirely.

Holding the device expertly, Morty fired at the nearest cliff face, causing a bright green portal to open with a warped sloshing sound. He shoved the portal gun into his pocket and rearmed himself with the rifle. His visible eye flickered in Rick's direction briefly, and the man felt the sharp jerk of _follow_ before Morty stepped into the portal.

Grip on the plasma gun tightening involuntarily, Rick stepped in after him.

The portal closed behind Rick the moment he exited it. The first thing he noticed was that the air had become slightly warmer and more humid, along with the obvious change in environment. Compared to the mountain, the gravelly terrain was much flatter and shrouded in a pale fog. Rick recognized the massive rocky spires and formations rising up from the ground from his earlier sightseeing, and they were well illuminated by the moonlight. The spikes and structures spread out in all directions, forming a vast maze that eventually faded into mist. Taking it all into account, the location gave off of a profoundly eerie vibe.

Morty briefly surveyed the area before walking in a seemingly random direction. Rick trailed closely behind, his footsteps crunching softly in the gravel. They didn't go very far before stopping at the base of the nearest rock formation, this one being rather pillar-shaped. Morty crouched down and made a gesture indicating for Rick to do the same. It all seemed to be done with a measure of caution and stealth to it.

The boy seemed to be on guard, rifle held at the ready as he scanned the surrounding fog. Rick distantly wondered what he was searching for, but then he felt another order tighten around his brain. Unlike the previous mental commands, it was very precise. _Take off and open your backpack._ As expected, he did exactly as he was told, sliding off his backpack and unzipping it carefully.

Rick's confusion was mounting with every moment that passed by, not helped by the fact that Morty was telling him precisely jack shit. Even though Rick's thinking was restricted, if he had enough time to himself he could probably piece together what little information he had and figure out what the hell they were doing here. As it was, though, everything was moving too quickly for him to plan ahead in any meaningful way.

For now, all he could do was sit on the sidelines and watch things unfold.

Rick dug through his backpack, receiving further mental orders to extract a specific object. Despite it not being described to him, the distant, controlled part of himself seemed to know what to look for, as though he was subconsciously sensing Morty's intent. In the process he also pulled out several glass vials with fabric stretched over them, as well as a long metal rod. He handed them over to Morty, although he couldn't imagine what they were for.

Finally Rick pulled out the targeted object, a spherical device with a pin attached to it, no bigger than a baseball. It strongly reminded him of a grenade. Therefore, he wasn't that surprised when the next order turned out to be _pull the pin and throw it into the clearing behind_ _you._

After pulling the pin, he leaned out from behind the pillar and tossed it as far as he possibly could, ducking back down next to Morty as he heard it distantly land on the ground with a sharp clack.

But there was no explosion. Instead, the device burst open and emitted an _ungodly_ loud screeching noise, vibrating and clanking in place. It wasn't a grenade, it was a _noisemaker,_ and holy _shit_ it hurt to listen to. If Rick could cover his ears he would have without a second thought, because while it wasn't the _worst_ thing he had ever heard, it absolutely ranked up in his top ten. It was even enough to make his body actually flinch for once. Annoyingly, Morty seemed mostly unfazed.

Eventually the noise dwindled to a tolerable level, although Rick still swore he heard echoes of the original sound reflecting across the landscape. It was no longer the only sound that was carrying, though. Deep within the fog, he heard something that sounded like distant, trumpeting calls.

Morty quietly leaned out from behind the pillar to look at the clearing, indicating for Rick to do the same. For a moment, nothing appeared to have changed. The noisemaker was still lying on the ground, undisturbed aside from its continuous rattling. Then, another bellowing call echoed through the fog, much closer this time.

Some sort of alien creature emerged from the mist, and even if fog weren't surrounding it the thing would be hard to see, as it was nearly the same color as the rocks around it. It was a quadruped with no fur, only a thick, scaly hide. It almost looked like a rhinoceros when taking into account its large size and distinctive horn, except with a muscular build and claws far more like a bear, and sharp teeth and snakelike fangs befitting that of a predator rather than a herbivore. The horn on its snout didn't look suited for goring, instead being far more fleshy and tubular, perhaps used for amplifying its calls. Its eyes were small and underdeveloped, and from the way it seemed to rely on sound to navigate it was likely that it was nearly blind. Rick was unsettled to realize he didn't recognize the species at all.

It approached the noisemaker cautiously, prodding it with its snout and sniffing it. It seemed slightly irritated when the device gave another loud buzz, but it didn't run away, instead making a disgruntled rumbling noise through its horn.

Then, things happened. _F_ _ast_.

Morty aimed his rifle and fired at the creature's front leg, the powerful blast piercing straight through and crippling it. Rick felt something wordlessly twist around his brain as he simultaneously raised his plasma gun, shooting the animal in the horn. Violet blood sprayed across the rocks as the flesh of the creature was torn asunder.

The alien reared back in terror, but its alarmed, trumpeting shriek was reduced to a weak wheezing noise thanks to its mutilated horn. It tried to turn and run but tripped over its wounded leg, collapsing to the ground.

As though following a script, Rick rushed forward and jumped onto its back. He wrapped his legs around its sides to avoid being thrown off, and once he got a good grip he jammed his gun into the nape of its neck with as much force as he could muster. Unexpectedly, the beast seemed to fall still from that action, aside from its faint, fearful whines and occasional twitch. It was as though he had hit a particular pressure point, paralyzing most of its body.

Meanwhile, Morty walked up to the subdued creature, approaching it from the front. He was still carrying the rifle, but he had switched to holding it single-handed. Rick soon saw that it was because his other hand was holding the metal rod.

The alien creature tried to snap and bite at Morty as he got close, but due to the paralysis it didn't have much success. With a determined expression, Morty rammed the rod into the creature's mouth, prying and propping its jaws open. Despite straining around the metal, the alien couldn't seem to crush it down.

Morty then procured a few vials from his pocket, and he pressed one against the massive fang of the alien, allowing it to pierce through the fabric. A clear liquid dribbled down into the glass tube, slowly filling it. After the vial was full of venom, Morty capped it and switched to another one.

Rick's thoughts were a bit warped and fleeting as he regained his bearings, the adrenaline rush of the situation throwing him off. Even now, he felt almost mechanical impulses maintaining his movements as he worked to keep the alien steady. His brain had seemed to switch into a sort of combat mode, running almost entirely on programmed autopilot aside from the initial command to _shoot_ and the latest order to _hold it down_. There had always been a degree of autopilot before, some controlled part of his mind interpreting and carrying out instructions, but this took it to a new level.

It disturbed him more than he was willing to admit. How the hell was he supposed to interrupt something like that?

Morty milked about three or four vials of venom before the alien ran dry. He slipped the vials into his backpack, and then retreated a few steps from the creature.

Then Rick felt another tug in his mind. _Kill it._

Without hesitation he fired directly into the alien's brain, killing it instantly. Purple fluid and brain matter splattered onto the ground. From his position on its upper back, it had been an easy shot. Morty pulled the rod out of the alien's jaws, letting them fall limply shut as he slid the rod back into his bag.

Rick felt a mixture of horror and frustration as he proceeded to slide off the dead creature's body and walk back over to Morty. Being ordered to do that was just _unnecessary_. Morty had a fucking rifle, if he wanted to kill the alien he could have easily done it himself. It was just like back on the mountain, with Rick shooting that… thing. The fact that Morty was making Rick do the dirty work wasn't just petty, it was outright demeaning.

Honestly, the alien was an ugly son of a bitch and Rick had trouble feeling sorry for it, but even then this seemed like an excessively cruel method to harvest venom just for… whatever Morty planned on using it for.

Morty picked up the now inactive noisemaker, clicking a button on its underside and causing it its extended plates to retract back into a spherical shape. After reinserting the pin, it looked practically good as new, ready for a second use.

Now that Rick finally had a sense of what Morty was doing here, he was going to resume his own pettiness and try his hardest to fuck something up. No matter how firm the control was right now, there had to be an opening somewhere he could exploit. Some way for him to retaliate, because it wasn't just scaring Rick how thoroughly Morty was controlling him, it was also increasingly pissing him off.

He just needed to wait for an opportunity. He remembered how he damaged that drone the first time he successfully fought back, and he wanted to do something equivalent to that, or worse. Something that outright interferes with Morty's venom-gathering operation, so that even if the little shit mindfucks him again he'd still get some measure of satisfaction.

They left the corpse to rot and quietly maneuvered to another clearing, repeating the process with the noisemaker all over again. The creatures definitely weren't wising up and realizing it was an obvious trap, as right on cue a second one emerged from the fog to investigate. From the multiple distant calls Rick could hear, as well as this one's relatively close proximity to the first, he wondered if these aliens were pack animals.

He tried to resist midway through their second attack, but everything became a disorienting blur as his combat programming kicked in again, too fast to interrupt or delay once it was already in action. Everything was as coldly efficient as before-- shoot and cripple the alien, destroy its horn to silence it, then pin it down while the kid harvested its venom. All Rick managed was a full-body twitch when they reached the step where he was holding the creature down, which didn't really do anything to interfere with the process.

Morty's eye sharply darted up to him when he resisted, and some internal part of Rick froze up upon realizing he had been noticed. Unexpectedly, after staring him down for a moment, the teenager broke eye contact and resumed shoving the rod in the creature's mouth. No recalibration, no threats.

It then occurred to Rick that since the recalibration process could be compared to a reboot, as well as with how it fucked with his head and caused his body to relax, Morty probably couldn't do it when they were in a high-stakes situation such as this one. The kid needed him to be subduing the alien, and Rick couldn't do that if his brain was scrambled and his muscles suddenly gave out on him. So for the time being, he was safe.

It was a massive confidence booster, honestly. Realizing that he could resist right now and Morty couldn't do shit about it made Rick feel almost giddy, and he redoubled his efforts to find a weak point. Interfering when his mind was kicked into high gear was _probably_ possible, but it was far too fleeting and difficult for him to bother at the moment. Probably because the adrenaline surge disrupted him from the calm, focused state that he had grown accustomed to. Even now it was still circulating in his system, making concentrating a lot harder than it needed to be.

Ignoring the headache that was building in his skull, he decided to try treading familiar ground with his next attempt. Like his prior disobedience, he needed to screw things up at the _exact_ moment Morty was giving him an order, before his body could even start attacking.

They were on their third alien when Rick succeeded.

It was right after Morty successfully blew out one of the alien's legs with his rifle. Rick was primed to follow up with blasting the horn, when he pushed back against the pressure in his brain, _hard_. Something gave way and his arm muscles suddenly twitched and relaxed. It caused his arm to sink slightly, throwing off his aim.

He missed the alien completely, the shot going wide and hitting a distant rock spire. The coordinated attack had been completely thrown out of sync in less than a split second, and with only the wounded leg, the creature reared and gave an earsplitting bellowing _scream_ , ringing loudly through the fog.

Morty immediately fired the rifle again, killing the alien with a blast to the head, but it was too late, as the alarm had already been raised. His head snapped in Rick's direction, giving him a sharp glare. Rick couldn't recall Morty actually looking outright _angry_ before now.

The teenager looked like he wanted to say something, but more ear piercing calls echoed through the mist, increasing in volume. He tensed up, instantly going on high alert, holding his rifle at the ready. He ventured out a little further so he was no longer backed against the pillar, scanning the surrounding fog in an almost hyper-vigilant manner. Rick felt a rough jerk, firmly ordering him to _stay on guard_ _and_ _be ready_ _._

Rick didn't try resisting that one, allowing himself slip into his combat programming again as he cocked his gun and stand sharply at attention, back turned to Morty. He was starting to get the sinking feeling that he had fucked up in many more ways than he had originally intended.

The shrieks and bellows became closer and louder, but due to the echoes their exact location was impossible to pinpoint. Rick looked around but couldn't make out anything in the fog. His grip on the gun's trigger tightened reflexively.

Then, without warning, two aliens charged out the mist with vicious, rumbling snarls. Their teeth and fangs were bared and Rick just barely jumped out of the way when one of them attempted to bite down on his torso. The other one tried flanking him but Morty blasted its hindquarters, causing it to roar and redirect itself towards the smaller target.

Rick was too focused on the first alien, the one that was still trying to lunge at him. He fired a shot at the head but hit the shoulder instead, which just seemed to anger it. It swiped its foreleg at his stomach, causing him a burst of pain as the claws connected and he was knocked to the ground with a grunt.

But as the alien bore down on him with open jaws and sharp fangs, it gave him a perfect shot. He fired, blasting out the creature's brain from the underside and spraying himself with violet gore. It collapsed to the side, and Rick stood back up, breathing heavily. The only thoughts passing through his accelerated brain right now were _shit shit shit_ and the desperate hope that his body knew what it was doing.

Even though, for a moment there, he had completely forgotten it wasn't himself controlling his body. Almost every combat maneuver felt like something he'd do, and the fast pace of the situation was slurring his thoughts together somewhat, making it hard to think coherently outside of the present moment.

Rick recovered quickly, holding his gun at the ready as he looked to his side. Morty was faring far better than he would have preferred, darting around and evading the attacking creature using his small stature while he attempted to get in a clear shot. Getting the right angle while not getting chomped seemed to be difficult, though, especially considering that the rifle didn't look like an effective close-range weapon.

Rick raised his gun to assist, but then a bloodcurling shriek rang from above, and out of the fog came the shadow of something with _wings._

He managed to shoot the alien attacking Morty in the back of its neck before whipping his head upward to face the new threat. Now that it was more clearly visible, he could see that it looked almost identical to the other aliens, horn and fangs and all, but not only did it have a sleeker profile, in the place of its forelimbs it had large, leathery wings that reminded him a giant bat. What, now some of these things could _fly_?

It swooped down in an attempt to attack Rick head-on, jaws opening wide. But right as he was about to shoot it, it suddenly veered off to the side, causing him to miss completely. He only wondered why it changed direction for a split second when he suddenly felt something slam into him from the side. Those devious _motherfuckers_.

Sharp teeth clamped around his chest and stabbed into his shoulder, causing him to yelp as he was suddenly pulled into the sky in the jaws of another flying alien he didn't even _see_. It seemed to be able to support the weight of his body just fine, as it flew back up at a steep angle and kept climbing in altitude.

Its fangs were sinking pretty deep into his shoulder, so he couldn't exactly move his arm enough to shoot it. He struggled and kicked from where he was hanging but it didn't seem all that bothered. Although to be honest, he wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to make it drop him from this height, anyway.

An unusual wave of grogginess passed over him, and for a moment it didn't quite click. Then he remembered these things had venom, and he was probably getting a full dose of the stuff with that fang pierced in his body. Fuck, he couldn't pass out _now_. He resisted as much as he could, but despite his efforts, his struggles were steadily growing weaker and his vision was starting to blur.

Getting carried off and eaten by aliens wasn't quite how he imagined dying, although it's not like it was the most unlikely cause of death in the universe. He started to lose feeling in his upper body as his concentration slipped, and his eyes started to drag shut.

Something shot through the sky above them, causing the alien to bellow loudly and dive down to avoid it, sharply reducing their altitude. Then a second, more powerful laser blast cut through the air, sniping the alien out of the sky as it cleanly pierced the underside of the creature's jaw and straight through its skull.

The alien twisted and nosedived. The jaws suddenly released from around Rick, sending him into free fall, and the sensation startled his brain into partial alertness. It was enough for him to start panicking, as he realized that even if the reduced height meant the fall was no longer fatal, he'd probably still break every bone in his body.

Fortunately, the creature hit the ground before him, and Rick landed on it with a sickening thud as its corpse absorbed most of his impact. He rolled off of it, wheezing softly. Not only did the collision leave him with a full-body ache, the pain from being bitten was starting to intensify in his shoulder, something hot and sticky soaking through his shirt. Now that he was lying still on the ground, the wooziness was also returning and black was seeping in at the edges of his vision.

“You were lucky.”

The sound of Morty's voice forced Rick to half-attentiveness, his head automatically tilting in the direction of the sound. He watched as the teenager walked up to him, the rifle in his hands still sizzling slightly at the tip. Rick didn't know whether to feel relief or fear.

“The males have a much weaker venom than the females,” Morty said quietly as he crouched down next to Rick, laying the rifle to the side and pulling what looked like a first aid kit out of his backpack. “Otherwise, you'd probably be dead right now. Or at least in a coma.”

Rick processed the words slowly. He was at least somewhat glad he survived, but that wasn't what he focused on. So, the wings were due to sexual dimorphism? That explained things. It wasn't even that weird as far as sex differences go, although the effects of the venom made it hard to think of a more extreme example at the moment.

Morty dragged Rick away from the dead alien and propped him upright against a nearby pillar. The boy extracted something that looked like a syringe from the kit. He uncapped it and moved closer to Rick, roughly pulling up the man's sleeve.

Now that they were no longer being attacked by alien monsters, Rick was soberly reminded of his situation when he tried to flinch back from the teenager and found his body completely unresponsive, and not just from the venom. Once again, the sheer energy of the fight had made him forget that he had _never_ been the one in control this entire time. Fuck his life.

Morty stabbed the syringe into Rick's upper arm, perhaps a bit harder than strictly necessary. He held it in for a second, injecting the full dosage before pulling the needle out. Afterward, he used some disinfectant to clean the deep puncture wound in Rick's shoulder caused by the fang, followed by tightly wrapping and dressing it with gauze. Rick still had various other injuries, but Morty seemed to be only interested in taking care of the worst of them for the time being.

The kid himself didn't appear to escape unscathed, either. Rick could see a deep cut in the kid's side, which Morty clearly patched up in a hasty manner. He let himself feel a tinge of satisfaction at that, bitterly enjoying the mark of successful retaliation against the asshole even though the vast majority of the consequences ended up falling upon himself.

After treating Rick, Morty got to his feet. He surveyed the area briefly before walking away. To where, Rick had no fucking clue, but at least it gave him time to think to himself.

Whatever Rick had been injected with seemed to be counteracting the effects of the venom. His head was slowly becoming clearer, and while the grogginess was still present it wasn't overpowering his senses anymore. He had probably been given an antivenom. Unsurprising that Morty was carrying it, really, considering the circumstances.

Now having experienced the effects firsthand, Rick realized someone could probably synthesize a pretty potent sedative from this venom, or a powerful tranquilizer. Hell, if the wingless females had an even stronger venom like Morty suggested, you probably only needed a few drops of it to knock a man out cold. It made the several vials they had already collected feel like complete overkill. Why Morty needed so much of it, Rick had no idea.

Rick's eyes wandered, taking in his immediate surroundings. He saw no more aliens in the vicinity, aside from two additional corpses lying some distance away-- one winged, one wingless. Looked like Morty had been busy. Either all the aliens were killed or they had been scared off, because he couldn't hear any other trumpeting calls in the distance, either.

Wait a minute. Morty was over by the dead wingless alien, crouched over. What the hell was he doing?

When the kid finally walked back over to Rick, the man was slightly disgusted upon realizing Morty was holding a stained pocket knife in one hand and a kidney-sized organ in the other, everything completely soaked in violet blood. Based on the clear liquid leaking profusely from the fleshy mass, it must have been the alien's venom gland, cut out of the creature's body directly.

“This is so much less efficient,” Morty muttered as he pulled out the last two vials, twisting and squeezing the gland so that the venom poured out. Rick could see what he meant, considering how much of the fluid was wastefully leaking onto the ground. Somewhat surprisingly, the venom entering the vials was untainted by alien blood, so it wasn't a complete loss.

Both vials managed to be mostly filled by the time the gland ran dry. After capping and bagging them, Morty tossed the shriveled organ to the side and wiped his hands on his jeans. He packed everything up in his backpack, including the rifle, before slipping it back on. Then, he turned to face Rick.

Rick felt a familiar jerk in his mind, prompting him to stand up. He was a little shaky on his legs but the antivenom had really done wonders. But then he saw the expression on Morty's face. Not murderously angry, but no longer completely neutral or smirking either, and it filled him with a profound sense of _oh fuck._

“For the record,” Morty said, something unreadable in his voice as he once again pulled the remote from his pocket. “I think you should start taking this seriously, Rick.”

Rick expected himself to be recalibrated, and he steeled his nerves. But Morty pressed a different button, and suddenly everything was _pain_.

It was like a burning hot knife had been _stabbed_ through the back of his brain, directly setting off every pain receptor in his body. Like an electric shock running down his spine and lighting everything on fire. In that moment he couldn't think or breathe, his awareness of his surroundings disappearing in a blink as all he could register was pain. Pure, undiluted _agony_.

It only lasted a second or two in total, but even that felt far too long. When he came back to himself, aching remnants still traveled down his limbs, and he found that his controlled body had actually staggered from the pain shock, trembling faintly with shallow breaths.

And Morty didn't even give him a moment to recover, as almost instantly he felt his mind seize up, the recalibration overpowering him once again. His pain-addled mind was scrambled even further by the temporary loss of awareness and overwhelming disorientation. Added together, the sensations formed an absolutely torturous mindfuck.

When it finally ended, he found himself regaining some measure of coherency despite the dizziness, much faster than the last few times. Rick vaguely expected himself to be filled with hatred. Either that, or pants-shitting terror. And while there was definitely some fear there, his internal organs practically twisting themselves inside out at the mere memory of the pain, for the most part, he felt… nothing. Hollow. Exhausted. It could just be that the recalibration tired him out, but he knew it wasn't the sole reason, and he wasn't sure how to respond to that.

Morty pocketed the remote without another word. He then pulled out his portal gun and fired it at a nearby wall.

Rick could give no further resistance as he followed Morty back through the portal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the process of writing this, I have discovered "recalibration" is not a real word. I have also decided to not care.
> 
> EDIT: I updated the last few paragraphs to flow a bit better and clarify some things.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think a monthly or later update rate is probably going to be the new norm, sadly
> 
> I'm not too happy with this one but ehhhh I was spending too long on it anyway.
> 
> Thanks for being patient, and enjoy!

The events afterward passed by in somewhat of a haze.

The portal took them directly back to the bunker. It took longer than usual for Rick to realize they had stepped out into the room they had merely passed through earlier, the larger one that was connected to the hallway and kitchen as well as being cluttered with boxes, shelves, and supplies.

The first thing Morty did was take off and start unloading his backpack. Rick felt a pull prompting him to act similarly by depositing his plasma gun and backpack on the floor, but unlike the boy he didn't immediately retrieve anything from his bag. The strap had been rubbing painfully against his bite wound, anyway, so it was somewhat of a relief that he no longer had to carry it around.

Rick found himself spacing out for a minute or two while Morty was taking stuff out of the bag, before catching himself. Fuck, he was really out of it, wasn't he? Maybe the effects of the venom were still lingering, or his fall from the fucking _sky_ still had his body in recovery mode. He tried not to think about the fact that it was far more likely to be residual shock from his brain getting practically fried.

Despite his exhaustion and disorientation, Rick still paid attention to the room's layout, now that he had the opportunity to do so. It honestly looked like Morty kept over half of all the bunker's supplies in this single room, because while there seemed to be a vague organization scheme it was following, it still looked ridiculously cramped and overcrowded. At least it was still somewhat navigable. Most of the boxes, crates, and shelves seemed to be packed together in the center and corners, so there was a semi-clear path around the edges of the room.

In addition, several complex, hand-drawn blueprints were hung up along the open spaces on the walls. Rick knew he could determine what they were for if he was allowed to study them closer, even with his reduced brainpower, but considering his situation that seemed almost laughable.

Morty had almost completed unloaded his backpack when he finally withdrew the venom vials. He walked over to a small fridge under a desk in the corner of the room, bending down and cracking it open. Rick caught a glimpse of multiple chemical-filled containers stored inside, organized on shelves and labeled. Morty inserted the vials into a rack and promptly shut the door. It didn't surprise Rick that the venom needed to be put into cold storage, since like most organic substances it probably wouldn't preserve well until it was distilled.

Things went by a little quicker after that. The kid's next priority seemed to be further injury treatment, although he didn't bother helping Rick out this time around. Now that the man was no longer incapacitated, he was forced to attend his own wounds, while the kid retreated to a corner of the room to do the same. It was a more complex command than most, but Rick's body seemed to know how to execute it well enough, using strange gels from a medical kit Morty had laid out for him and rubbing them into the cuts and bruises. Rick vaguely wondered if he was drawing from _his_ subconscious knowledge on what each medication did, or if he was drawing from Morty's.

After they were both done bandaging up any residual injuries, Morty started putting away the contents of the two backpacks. Rick stood back and watched as the boy went back and forth, organizing everything away into various places of the room. This included the rifle and gun-- it turned out that there was a whole fucking _weapons locker_ against one wall, what the hell-- while almost everything else went in boxes or on the shelves. It was tedious as hell, predictably.

Unexpectedly, Morty didn't force Rick to help him out. Considering the fact that kid had been ordering Rick around like a slave for the past several hours, this took Rick by complete surprise. Not that he was complaining, it just… didn't make any sense. Morty definitely would benefit from the extra muscle in this situation, and he had more than enough control over Rick to enforce it, just like every other command before now. What, did he no longer trust Rick to behave himself?

… _Shit._ That's what this was, wasn't it?

Despite that uncomfortable deduction, Rick could do nothing but wait until the kid was finished. At least he could try studying the room a bit further, but even that was gradually losing his interest. _God,_ he was tired. He briefly considered spacing out again, if only to pass time.

Although it turned out it wasn't completely uneventful. A few minutes later, Rick inadvertently learned how him taking piss breaks was going to work. Without warning, Morty gave a sudden twitch of discomfort. Rick later realized it must have been a mental notification of some kind, because the kid promptly dismissed him to the bathroom. Which was definitely needed, considering that upon receiving the order, it registered with Rick just how badly he had been suppressing the urge to leak this whole time.

Turns out the closed door he noticed from last time _was_ _n't_ a closet, but actually the sole bathroom in the bunker. It was a rather cramped one too, with just barely enough room for a toilet, sink, and shower. Everything seemed designed with reduced water consumption in mind, and he felt a faint memory twinge of similar tech being used on desert planets. Rick had little opportunity to enjoy his privacy, though, as he did his business with mechanical efficiency and was back out the door in less than five minutes.

Coupled with the fact he had to be ordered to _eat_ , it vaguely disturbed him that his body wouldn't even do basic maintenance anymore unless directly told to.

Morty had finished putting everything away, except he also seemed to have grabbed a large blanket out of a nearby crate. Folding it under one arm, he walked over to Rick and roughly grabbed him by the wrist.

Rick wanted to protest against that, mostly due to a sudden mixture of emotions that could best be summed up as _don't fucking touch me_ , but then Morty locked eyes with him and something just… froze. Like his insides calcified on themselves, an imprint of fear passing through his mind and evaporating his will to fight almost instantly. As a result, the opportunity was lost and Morty dragged him over to the corner of the room unopposed.

Fuck. Rick tried to collect himself, if only out of sheer indignation. What the _actual hell_ was wrong with him? He highly doubted Morty actually did anything in that moment-- it was an involuntary, instinctive reaction, one that made him practically flinch. Rick knew the reason for it, and that just made him hate himself even more.

Morty led him to a spot a short distance away from the mattress bed, and he spread the blanket out on the ground. Rick was drawing a complete blank as to what the teenager was doing when Morty turned to face him. There was a sharp pull of _lie down._

… Oh. Of course Morty was that much of a jackass that he was having Rick sleep on the _floor_.

Rick immediately followed the command, lying down on his side. Considering his exhaustion, he could _almost_ fool himself into appreciating it. But despite the blanket providing some padding, the hard floor was still digging into his body and his body heat was being slowly leeched into the cold metal tiles. There's no way he'd be able to fall asleep naturally in this position-- he'd have to be massively sleep deprived for that. Or blackout drunk. Of course, Morty was probably going to force it, so Rick's objections to the arrangement didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things.

He once again saw the impassive look on Morty's face as the kid stared down at him for a moment, then walked over to get something from another nearby crate. He wondered if the asshole was enjoying degrading him like this. Surely on some level he was. Aside from the occasional smirk or remark, though, the kid definitely wasn't showing it. Either the kid gave no fucks, or he constantly put on a mask. Probably both, if Rick had to be honest.

Rick knew that the teenager was still subtly pissed off in some way from the alien attack, enough that he was acting more guarded than usual. Acting out was incredibly dangerous at the moment, but Rick mostly ignored that. He felt so damn frustrated with that panicky lizard part of his brain that he wanted to confirm to _himself_ that he could still do it. That he could still take back a little control whenever he wanted to, and any lingering fear from that shock wasn't going to stop him.

So the second Morty's back was turned, Rick prepared to resist again. Only by a small amount, though. He didn't think he had the energy to do more than that, and him lying on the floor really limited how much he could affect, anyway. His insides twisted and iced over once he started, but after a moment of struggling he managed to swallow back the fear and reach that level of manufactured calmness once more.

After a few seconds, he felt his fingers shift ever so slightly. Okay, good. Rick began to slowly relax. That shock to his brain didn't actually… _“_ _fix”_ anything, like his more paranoid thoughts had feared. He could still disrupt the control. He wasn't completely locked in, and he could still affect things if he really wanted to.

Then the relief was promptly shattered when a searing, _blinding_ pain suddenly lanced through his skull.

His body jerked and involuntarily curled up into a ball as the sensory overload blocked out everything else. His blood felt as though it was boiling as it pumped through his veins. And for that one second, it felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out.

The pain-filled haze afterward was disturbingly familiar. Shallow and unsteady breaths escaped him. His brain felt scrambled, but in a different way than the recalibration.

Fucking piece of... how had Rick _forgotten_ that Morty had a fucking sixth sense installed when it came to him resisting?

Rick's body was slowly uncurling itself against the floor now that the pain shock was over, his breathing slowing down accordingly. His eyes immediately flickered up to Morty, who was holding up that _goddamn remote_ again _._ Morty had tilted his head in Rick's direction, meeting his gaze directly, and he was giving him the creepiest fucking smile that Rick had ever seen. It was far more sadistic and self-assured than anything that should be on a teenager's face and that sent a cold feeling down his spine.

Then the command of _sleep_ pressed itself into Rick's brain and his concentration started to falter. His deep sense of unease followed him into unconsciousness.

***

It became clear the following day that something had shifted in Morty's behavior.

Less than a minute after Rick had been woken up, he underwent an unprovoked recalibration. Despite the process still being uncomfortable and a bit of a mindfuck, it wasn't nearly as incapacitating as before. Rick knew that was because he had almost fully adapted to it by this point, and it only took about five or six minutes for the dizziness to fade completely this time around. The process also no longer elicited the same sort of dread that it used to, but considering what he could now compare it with, that wasn't all that surprising.

Morty then proceeded to drag him over to the room with the padded chair and put that bulky helmet on him again. Rick was just coming out of the calibration fugue at this point, so he only had a brief time to register that Morty seemed to be using the computer terminal to upload something into the helmet. The entire process was completed rather quickly, leaving Rick little time to theorize what the hell was being installed into his head. Once everything was finished, Morty examined him for a moment, pulled off the helmet, and made Rick follow him out of the room.

Overall it left Rick feeling more confused and unsettled than anything. Like last time, he felt no different, making it difficult for him to pinpoint what could have changed. At this point it seemed obvious that Morty was using that helmet to interface with whatever technology that was implanted in Rick's skull, as well as to make adjustments when necessary. Rick knew it had to be _something_ like cybernetics in his head, anyway, since he couldn't think of much else that would allow for this degree of control over a person. It was probably responsible for his memory problems, too, although he suspected that was merely a side effect. Morty probably didn't plan out that part, considering he didn't even expect Rick to be conscious in the first place.

Speaking of the kid, he seemed to be almost… tired. There were subtle bags under his eyes indicating a lack of sleep, although his visible eye was still relatively sharp and attentive. It didn't seem to be hindering him in any significant way-- in fact, Morty seemed eerily more relaxed than the day before-- but still, Rick couldn't help but take note of it. What was that asshole up to the previous night while Rick was asleep?

Admittedly, Rick had no idea how to track time in this place. There weren't any windows in the facility, and the only reference he had was from their venom-gathering expedition, where it had appeared to be the middle of the night. He couldn't even be sure that the nights on this planet were the same length as those on Earth, so even that wasn't all that helpful. It was fucking with his circadian rhythm badly, which was probably one of the reasons why he was still groggy despite sleeping for what had to be several hours.

After a quick breakfast, which consisted mostly of canned beans and some sort of sickly sweet alien fruit, Rick was ordered to redress his wounds from the prior evening. They were still sore, but those healing gels had been quite effective, with even the worst of the wounds being completely scabbed over. They'd probably be completely healed by the following day. Morty didn't bother to check his own wounds, so Rick suspected that either the kid had already done it while Rick was unconscious or that the gash had healed enough to not bother.

Then, they got to work. “Work” being whatever inscrutable shit Morty had planned for today, although it seemed significantly more low-key this time around. They didn't even go outside, instead staying mostly contained to the large, central room. The next hour or so mainly consisted of Morty working at a desk in the corner while Rick was kept occupied with mundane busywork, like sorting electronic components, rearranging supplies in the room, and fetching things for the kid when necessary.

It left Rick with a lot of time to think to himself. For the most part, though, he found himself trying to figure out Morty. Currently the teenager appeared to be multitasking with unnerving efficiency. Sometimes he would work on the drone from before, which was laying out on the table with its interior panels opened up. He seemed to be following a blueprint he had pulled down from the wall, although considering it looked hand-drawn Rick wouldn't be surprised if Morty had designed it himself. Rick was almost grudgingly impressed at the kid's intelligence, although deep down that trait felt _wrong_ in a way that he still didn't fully understand.

The other project Morty seemed to be working on was drawing up a completely new blueprint. It wasn't of a machine or drone, though. It looked almost like a building, except it seemed to be dome-shaped and spiky with an almost labyrinthine interior. Rick had no idea what it was for, especially since it seemed to be in early planning stages, but it gave off a moderately intimidating vibe. Although the spikes were definitely a bit tacky.

What was Morty's end goal with all of this? What was his _motivation_? He was clearly fucked in the head, but even that wasn't enough of an incentive for most people. Everything the teenager was doing felt intensely premeditated, so it was unlikely to be an impulsive spur-of-the-moment thing, either. Morty was using Rick for something, just like he was using the alien venom and drone and whatever else he was working on. The pieces were there, but Rick couldn't connect them together into a cohesive picture. It gave him a headache if he strained to think about it too long.

Rick was also starting to notice that Morty was paying more attention to him than usual. Every five to ten minutes the kid would glance up from whatever he was doing and fix Rick with an unnerving stare. It often interrupted Rick while he was deep in thought, and he couldn't help but snap to attention, freezing in whatever he was doing. But Morty wouldn't say anything, just hold that dissecting gaze for a moment before resuming his work, as well as forcing Rick to do the same.

If this had been yesterday, Rick would be increasingly pissed off by it, and to a degree he still was. What the fuck did the kid want, and why was he wasting Rick's time with these staredowns? It felt like Morty was trying to intimidate him and, normally, Rick would take it as a challenge and stubbornly refuse to back down.

… But now, Rick couldn't help but feel a faint memory of pain flash through his mind, and he would internally wince as his insides clenched. Morty forcing him to break eye contact and go back to mundane, slavish tasks would almost come as a _relief_.

The hatred and anger Rick had been internalizing from the previous day was starting to seep in, ever so slightly. He knew _exactly_ what Morty was doing with those shocks-- inflicting pain was the most simple strategy for conditioning creatures into obedience, after all, and Morty was now using it on him, like he was some dumb fucking dog that would put its tail between its legs and stop barking if it was kicked hard enough.

The worst part was that it was absolutely _working_.

The pain shock had only happened twice and Rick was already feeling that traitorous part of his brain flinching and shivering away at the mere idea of resisting again. It wasn't like the reasonable caution he already had, despite him not liking to admit that fearing a teenager in any capacity could be considered “reasonable”. This new fear was both irrational and cowardly, and it made his self-hatred bubble back up, internally hissing at himself _it's just pain,_ _it's_ _just pain,_ _stop being such a fucking_ wimp _._

Rick didn't think it would hinder him for longer than a few days, though. It took far more than pain to break him, especially because it seemed Morty was being very careful to not damage him physically-- Rick would be far less useful if injured, after all. The shock had gone directly to his brain but left no marks after it was finished, so that intense pain had just been false alarms firing off in his head. A mere mental construct, nothing else.

Rick just had to be less stupid about resisting from now on. He so desperately wanted to remain petty, to keep interfering with the control whenever possible, but not only did his prior delays not appear to have a significant impact, they weren't… weren't worth it anymore, not with the new punishment method Morty was using. Only situations where he could do some lasting damage were worthwhile now, anything that was enough to create a major setback and make that little shit _suffer_. That would be enough for Rick to figuratively grit his teeth and endure whatever Morty threw at him in retaliation. He just had to bide his time and wait for another opportunity.

Unfortunately, Morty seemed to be keeping Rick out of any situation where he could make a real mess. Nothing Rick was interacting with seemed to be essential or irreplaceable. He was still being forced to help Morty, sure, but his actions were subtle enough that he wasn't in a position to fuck anything up like before.

So he tried to distract himself for the time being. After the first six or so times he was sent to do chores, Rick attempted to pass time by doing stupid shit in his head, like counting how many colors of computer chips were in a box, how many rolls of copper wire were stacked on a nearby shelf, and the exact ratio of textbooks to novels in a small bookshelf against the far wall. That got repetitive rather quickly, so after somehow stretching it out for a half hour, he went back to trying to come up with a plan.

Right now, Rick was being forced to sort through a large crate of mechanical parts, looking for a specific type of processor chip for the drone. Based on all the things he had fetched already, he was starting to piece together that the drone was for utility purposes, not combat. For one thing, it had no weapons whatsoever, nor any spaces where they might be equipped. In addition, most of the parts Rick had delivered so far were better suited for advanced scanning systems than anything violent.

It still didn't give Rick any real idea of what Morty was going to use the drone for. Perhaps it was a mobile, smaller-scale alternative to that scanner at the top of the mountain? If Morty was going to be harvesting any more alien venom in the near future, a function like that could certainly come in handy. Or it could be for some completely different reason. Either way, Rick had no way of knowing for sure until the thing was completed.

Rick finished sorting the entire bin into neatly divided categories, and he was starting to get the impression Morty was ordering him to do things like this specifically to waste his time. After all, this wasn't the first time he had “sorted” something in the room, and it didn't really make finding the requested item significantly easier. After Rick finished delivering the chip-- again, he thought grudgingly, like a _fucking slav_ _e_ \-- he was made to turn around and started walking back to a particularly shelf-dense section of the room.

Then there was a sensation like something twisting sharply in his head, and Rick suddenly staggered and _tripped_.

Rick's body thankfully caught itself and regained its balance before he could smack his face into the floor, but that interruption came completely out of nowhere. Especially after nearly an hour of uneventful labor. His thoughts were scattered into a confused mess as he tried to piece together what just happened. Did he just _glitch_? What the actual hell?

Morty was completely silent. Rick's stomach twisted slightly upon realizing that the kid almost certainly saw that, even though he couldn't turn around to check. But since Rick didn't _actually_ resist just now, he doubted he'd get punished, so his thoughts were less fearful and more confused overall.

After a brief pause, Rick felt a forceful mental prod, prompting him to continue working like nothing had even happened. And for a short while he wondered if that's all it was-- a random, isolated event. But less than five minutes later, when Rick was reaching for a small box on top of a high shelf, there was another sharp twisting sensation. He lost his footing and fell backwards onto his ass, _hard_.

This time, he heard Morty stifle a laugh behind him.

With the ache of Rick's wounds being reawakened from the impact, it took a moment for it all to click. The bafflement left his mind in an instant, and what replaced it was a dark, burning feeling.

Really? Just… _really_? Out of _all_ the petty shit the asshole could be doing?

As if to confirm it, the next time Rick turned around to face Morty, he could see the teenager had an infuriatingly relaxed smile on his face. He was giving Rick this _look_ , as though he was daring him to respond. It was like he knew just how much this was pissing Rick off and was thoroughly amused by it.

God damn it, Morty _was_ enjoying this whole thing, wasn't he?

The interruptions continued for the next half hour, and it was almost like a cycle. At complete random, Morty would fuck with whatever Rick was doing in a minor, petty way. It often resulted in Rick toppling over, or veering into a wall, or other physically humiliating shit. It would never cause damage to whatever Rick was interacting with, because of fucking course it wouldn't. Morty was being _calculated_ with this, after all.

Rick really, _really_ wanted to break something right now. Preferably Morty's neck. The control digging into him had never felt stronger, though, and it put his lack of options into stark relief. His hatred was simmering to the point where, right after another forced fuck-up, he couldn't help but mentally glare at Morty as hard as possible, even though he knew his eyes wouldn't actually convey it.

Morty must have suspected his mental state, though, because he raised an eyebrow in feigned curiosity. “What's wrong, Rick?”

If Rick could, his eye would've twitched.

It took all of his self-control to not retaliate. It was blatantly obvious that Morty was doing this to mock him, to get a reaction out of him. Rick hated every second of it, but he needed to deny the fucker the satisfaction of a response. Fighting right now wouldn't accomplish anything-- any small movement he was capable of wouldn't be nearly cathartic enough, and he'd just get his brain fried again, anyway.

But then… Morty was winning either way. If Rick lashed out to try to get back at the asshole, he'd get shocked. And if he didn't do anything, he'd essentially be sitting down and taking the humiliation quietly. Morty had forced Rick into a situation without any exits, and it was making him increasingly desperate, no matter how hard he tried to push the emotions down.

It had reached the point where, when Rick was later searching through a pile of scrap metal, he couldn't even bother to give a damn about the reason behind it. The scraps were all different shapes, sizes, and materials, and none of them looked like they would fit on the now-completed drone, so for all he knew it was just another random fucking activity Morty was making him do for shits and giggles.

When Rick picked up a dangerously jagged piece of plating, though, he felt a sudden pull in his mind, and his grip tightened around it. Before he could even think, he flipped the razor-sharp end towards himself and plunged it towards his chest, stopping it just a hair's width away from his sternum.

Everything inside of Rick froze.

He stared at the scrap metal, unable to take his eyes off of it. If that went forward another inch or two, he'd be dead. Either by the tip going straight through his heart, or it piercing through a major artery and making him bleed to death. Both seemed possible from this position. And if he tried to resist or jerk his hand away, there's no guarantee that wouldn't just accidentally stab it into his chest anyway.

If he was in control of himself he was sure his breathing would have stopped, or at least become rather shallow. But, firm grip on the dagger-like object aside, Rick's body was acting eerily calm, like his self-preservation instinct was completely suppressed.

Rick looked up slightly and saw Morty casually resting his head in the palm of his hand. He was still smiling, but this time there was a distinct lack of humor in his expression.

It was almost impressive how fast Rick's anger shriveled away.

Once again, Morty didn't say anything. He didn't _need_ to say anything. So far, he rarely seemed to ever speak to Rick except to mock or intimidate him, and yet there was definitely communication going on in the meantime-- disturbing, antagonistic, and one-sided communication, but communication nonetheless.

And what was being said here, clear as day, was _make one move and_ _you die_ _._

A hint of familiar frustration flared up in Rick, before fizzling away like a dead spark. He already knew how vulnerable his position was, but this was the first time he'd actually been physically threatened. Threatened with _forced_ _suicide_ , no less. But that wasn't right. Morty still needed him alive, that much was clear. This had to be an empty threat. He wouldn't go through with it.

“How do you know I wouldn't?”

Rick's stomach dropped even further.

There was something very _knowing_ about Morty's smirk right now. And with the exact timing of that response...

Rick remembered that program installed with the helmet earlier, Morty's relaxed behavior in contrast with yesterday, and how the kid seemed to be enjoying provoking him a bit _too_ much. Like he somehow knew what Rick was feeling in a way that was too precise to be entirely guesswork. The realization hit like a cold wave.

Oh.

Oh, _fuck_.

“I mean, you're right.” Morty shrugged, and Rick's arm started to relax and lower. “I _don't_ have a reason to kill you yet. But it was kind of funny how you believed it for a moment.”

With that, the pressure in Rick's head released somewhat, his grip loosened, and he dropped the scrap metal back onto the floor.

It was at that point Rick's self-control finally snapped.

He lunged at Morty, or at least he instinctively tried to. But unsurprisingly, his blinding fury wasn't enough to override the control, and all he managed was a sharp twitch in Morty's direction, a sort of halting movement like his muscles froze mid-step.

His murderous intent drained away the instant he realized what he just did. Panic returned like a punch to the gut, along with a deep sense of dread. Morty didn't look that surprised by the attempted attack-- in fact, the expression on his face had become almost _triumphant_.

The kid's hand moved. There was a sound of a button press, and the excruciating pain nearly knocked Rick to the floor.

As the pain slowly faded for the third time, Rick wanted to grind his teeth in sheer frustration, an explosive barrage of _fuck you fuck you fuck you_ _fuck you_ punctuating through his head. He struggled to suppress his helpless rage and fear, which were blending together into something resembling hysteria, but he couldn't help it. It was too damn overwhelming. With that new algorithm installed, Morty was probably fully aware of it and enjoying every moment, the fucking sociopath.

God, Rick hoped he had enough patience to survive the rest of this ordeal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> evil morty is like those guys from boston dynamics who kick over robots to test how they respond to "disturbances", except instead of a robot it's evil rick and it's less to test disturbances and more evil morty being a trolling asshole


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise, you can't kill me yet

It turned out that Rick didn't have to wait long to see what the drone did, as it ended up being tested almost immediately after being finished. Rather than being turned on in the cluttered main room, however, Morty carried it to the smaller room down the hallway. It was the same room Rick first woke up in, and it was just as empty as before. Rick figured that the kid probably changed rooms as a precaution, so if the drone acted unpredictably it at least wouldn't break anything important.

Rick had been made to follow, as well as bring a few plates of scrap metal along with him. He didn't know what they were needed for, but at least Morty wasn't threatening to make him stab himself this time. His insides clenched involuntarily at the thought. Even though he had managed to calm himself down to a certain extent, mostly by forcing himself to stop thinking about it, he knew it was only a matter of time before the other shoe would drop.

The drone was activated using a tablet-like controller. The thing hummed to life with a whirring, beeping noise, small lights along its side flickering on. Retractable wings shot out from panels on its sides, and it immediately took flight, hovering in the air like a miniature helicopter. Its mannerisms seemed faintly familiar to Rick, but he couldn't pin down what it reminded him of just yet.

After some basic movement tests, which proved the drone could move smoothly in every direction while airborne, Morty got around to testing its other functions. With a single button press on the tablet's screen, a cylinder attached to the drone's front lit up with a bright blue light. There was another whirring sound as its internal mechanisms adjusted.

There was a slight jerk in Rick's mind, making him deposit the scrap metal onto the floor. He then backed away to give the drone some space as it hovered over the material.

The drone scanned the metal for a moment, then a beam of energy shot out and lifted the scrap into the air. Piece by piece, the scrap metal was broken apart until it was practically disintegrated. The glowing flecks remaining were swiftly absorbed into a port on the drone's front, as if the machine was storing it away for later use.

It was then that Rick realized what it had been reminding him of-- it was a construction drone. It didn't share the precise shape or dimensions as the mass-produced industrial models, but the equipment it was using was unmistakable. Advanced fabrication technology and tractor beams allowed it to manipulate, deconstruct, and reconstruct matter in mere moments. It was like a faster and far more efficient 3D printer, and a swarm of them could build a skyscraper in less than a day assuming they had a blueprint and sufficient material to work with.

So Morty was going to be building... something. Rick's thoughts shifted to that other blueprint the kid had been working on, the dome-shaped structure with the spikes. Could that be it?

The kid tapped a few options on the tablet, and an image of a cube appeared on the screen. The device attached to the front of the drone lit up again, this time with a green glow. It seemed prepared to reconstruct the matter into the desired shape.

And that's when something fucked up. The drone made a weird grinding, buzzing noise that did _not_ sound pleasant. If that wasn't enough to indicate there was an error, Morty's shoulders tensing up definitely gave it away.

Another beam of light shot out of the drone, but instead of forming a cube, a haphazard twisted mess of restructured metal was assembled midair. It looked like a small abstract sculpture with its jagged edges and intersecting surfaces. The material was too thinly spread out to support its own weight, so once it was dropped onto the floor it collapsed like it was made of aluminum foil.

Rick was still rather bitter from earlier, so that malfunction was downright _satisfying_ to watch. He had no idea why it happened, but for the moment he didn't care. The more things that went wrong for Morty, the better.

Although a part of Rick was still trying to figure out what went wrong, exactly. Nothing looked faulty with the drone's blueprint the few times he had caught a glimpse of it, and the kid definitely looked like he knew what he was doing when he was assembling it. There was always room for error, but something going this blatantly wrong still seemed strange.

Morty promptly pressed a button on the controller, and the machine gently landed on the ground before retracting its wings and shutting down entirely. It looked rather small and unassuming when it wasn't activated, but that was mostly due to its streamlined, compact design.

Mostly streamlined, that is. There was still that large dent on top of it. Rick hadn't seen anything that indicated it was interfering with the drone's mobility or functionality, but…

… Hold on. That wasn't entirely true. Could that dent really be the reason for…?

There was barely anything left of Rick's dignity by this point, but he still couldn't help a disorienting half-full sensation from bubbling up in his chest. A glowing sense of _pride_ , born from raw, vehement spite. It was almost kind of funny. Who would have thought that the next time he screwed over Morty would be completely by accident? God, he couldn't wait to see the bastard's reaction when he figured it--

“Wow, you really need a win, don't you?” Morty said, his voice deadpan. “I can't imagine why you'd be jumping to take the credit otherwise.”

Rick's excitement died away in an instant. His attention immediately snapped to the kid with a sharp _f_ _uck_ _off_ _._

Morty sighed and hefted up the drone onto the nearby table. “Besides, it would take a _lot_ more than a dent to affect the reconstructor like this.”

A slow sinking feeling formed in Rick's gut as he thought it over. He stubbornly wanted to cling on to his small victory, especially because the asshole was clearly trying to demoralize him, but he was also starting to notice the discrepancies the longer he analyzed the situation.

As much as he hated admitting it, Morty was right. The damage he had inflicted wasn't located anywhere near the part of the drone that malfunctioned. And even if the dent had affected something internal, there's no way the kid wouldn't have fixed it when he was fiddling around with its insides earlier. All that was left from Rick's first act of resistance was a minor mark in the plating.

… Well, there went Rick's last hope that he actually accomplished something.

When Morty started to examine the drone, presumably to search for defects, Rick was left to stand back and observe as usual. Normally he would have used this time to try to think things over, to figure out how he could exploit this turn of events. But he felt much more... _exposed_ on a mental level, and it was slowly chipping away at his concentration, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

The fact that Morty was taking new measures to monitor Rick shouldn't have been surprising. He had even feared that the kid could read his mind earlier on, though he ended up dismissing it after a lack of evidence. But now that it was finally implemented, it still unsettled him to his core. Perhaps he had been taking refuge in the fact his most rebellious thoughts were private, and he could safely think to himself without fear of retaliation. Now he couldn't be sure of anything anymore. Even though Rick didn't know how precise this surveillance was, he could assume it was enough for Morty to get a pretty comprehensive picture of his mental state.

It didn't help that the kid was giving Rick absolutely no indication of _when_ he was listening in. Surely it couldn't be a constant thing, could it? As far as Rick was concerned, what little mental privacy he had was still thoroughly destroyed, and he couldn't trust any potential lapses in Morty's attention to mitigate it, because how could he even tell? What if Morty faked inattentiveness to lower Rick's guard?

This whole thing was causing a faint but persistent paranoia to seep into the edges of Rick's mind. Here he was, his cover blown, and he still couldn't get his thoughts under control. Fuck. How was he supposed to find a way to fight back now?

Spending too long in his own thoughts was never pleasant, so Rick wrenched himself back to the present moment. It looked as though Morty had practically disassembled the drone while searching for the problem. The fabricating device on the front had been completely detached, and several side panels had been taken off to expose its internal circuitry.

The fiddling and examining didn't take too long before the kid seemed to find something. He stared at the inside of the frontal apparatus several seconds too long, but his expression remained carefully blank, and he slipped the detached component into his jean pocket. Morty then stood up straight and left the room. Rick almost moved to follow, but a firm order of _stay put_ stopped him in his tracks.

Rick had already been doing jack shit, so sure, why not give him even less to do? Although he couldn't help but notice how much the whole situation was giving him deja vu. Shame that he wasn't made to hold the drone while Morty was out this time around, otherwise he'd drop and damage it further without a second of hesitation. Something in his chest twisted at that far-fetched thought.

He still didn't know what the problem with the drone's reconstruction abilities was, but Morty didn't seem too happy. Guess this was something that couldn't be instantly fixed.

Whatever Morty was doing, it was apparently intensive enough to leave Rick waiting _way_ too long, enough for his legs to start cramping up. It must have been well over a half hour later when Morty finally reentered the room. Rick wouldn't be surprised if the asshole had intentionally stretched it out to frustrate him, although that might just be his bitterness talking.

Nothing about Morty's appearance indicated what had taken so long, unfortunately. He had retrieved the portal gun, as well as a plasma gun he had strapped to his belt. This piqued Rick's curiosity a little. Was Morty gearing up to go outside again? Considering the last time led to Rick nearly getting killed by alien monsters, he wasn't exactly thrilled at the possibility.

But Morty didn't order Rick to follow him back out the door. Instead, the kid strode up to Rick and, without hesitation, handed the older man the portal gun _._

With a subtle jerk in Rick's mind, he took it, fingers adjusting around the handle in an eerily familiar way. As he stared down at the smooth surfaced device, watching the green energy crackle in its tube, he felt nothing but confusion. Why was Morty having _him_ hold it?

The portal gun wasn't the only thing Morty ended up handing him, as the kid also gave him a spare plasma gun and a small sack that felt like it was filled with something heavy. Both items fit rather neatly into Rick's inner coat pockets. He supposed these were for whatever expedition they were going on, although the plasma guns felt more like a precautionary measure. Morty didn't have any heavier firepower equipped this time around, so it was unlikely they were going to be intentionally looking for a fight.

When it came to giving him the portal gun, though, Rick was still drawing a blank. Maybe Morty was just exercising more power over Rick for the sake of it, like how the kid made him do the dirty work during the venom hunting, but something about this felt more… specific, in a way that didn't make complete sense. Shouldn't it not matter which of the two of them was shooting the portal?

There was another mental pull, and Rick proceeded to input a specific set of coordinates into the portal gun. He didn't receive any subconscious indication of where they led to, and the sight of them didn't ring any bells. Rick took aim at the wall and pulled the trigger, shooting a glowing green portal against the back of the room.

Rick expected Morty to enter it, but the kid didn't move. Instead, another sharp jerk in Rick's mind prompted the older man to go through first. For all he knew, Morty was throwing him out front as a meat shield, but unsurprisingly his body stepped through the portal without hesitation.

Now, based on everything he had seen so far, Rick had been getting the impression that Morty was a bit of a recluse. People only really lived on uninhabited alien planets if they didn't want to draw attention to themselves, or if they didn't want to conform to the rules of society. Usually it was some mixture of both. Either way, Morty definitely seemed like someone who didn't want to be disturbed.

So when the portal dropped him out in a noisy cityscape, Rick's first thought was _what_ _in_ _the_ _actual_ _shit_.

It looked like he was in a deserted alleyway, but the jarring sounds of spacecraft passing overhead, clanking industrial noises, and distant chatter and commotion eliminated any sense of solitude. Aside from that, though, the whole alley was dimly lit, relying only on the distant lights from the street. The concrete beneath Rick's shoes was grimy and cracked, and various puddles had formed from uncovered sewage pipes, giving off a foul stench.

Morty stepped out immediately after, the portal closing behind him. He examined their surroundings for a moment before turning to face Rick. A push in the man's head ordered him to keep walking, and he headed towards the open end of the alleyway. Morty followed closely behind.

When Rick exited the alley, he found himself on a wide and sloped street, not big enough for vehicles but still rather expansive for pedestrians. The lighting here wasn't too bright either, being limited to street lamps and a vaguely greenish tint coming from somewhere in the dark sky. But, far more importantly, it was _crowded_.

Aliens of all different shapes and sizes mingled together, traversing up and down the street. Some were cloaked or otherwise taking measures to conceal their appearances, but there were also plenty who didn't seem to care. An elongated equine-looking creature strode past, towering over the rest of the passerby, and a gaggle of multicolored, blob-shaped aliens moved to avoid it. Some bipeds were chatting amongst themselves in an alien language, too faint to make out.

Rick didn't have much time to let the scene sink in, as he ended turning the corner to walk down the street, sidestepping a few aliens in the process. Morty stayed close to him, although the boy appeared remarkably unfazed by all the activity around them. Rick soon realized why, as aside from an odd glance or lingering stare, practically nobody was paying any attention to the two of them. They were just another couple of aliens walking around, nothing special that was worth noticing. As long as they didn't draw attention to themselves, it was unlikely they'd be bothered.

Along the sides of the road were various stores, services, and stalls. It looked like a lively marketplace, with various individuals doing commerce and examining wares. Bright neon signs were hung up over shop windows, flashing entrancingly. In more shadowy corners of the street, some peddlers were talking in hushed whispers with their clients, and Rick occasionally saw them exchanging bags of money for… something else, and from the furtive glances it didn't look legal. Huh. Black market activity out in the open? This was shaping up to be an interesting place.

More outspoken shopkeepers were constantly pestering passerby in various alien tongues, several of which Rick understood perfectly. One of them even attempted to flag down Rick, annoyingly obstructing his path and babbling on about something that roughly translated to _“f_ _antastic_ _prices_ _!”_ and _“best perzoid_ _seeds_ _in_ _s_ _ector_ _eight_ _!”_

Rick gave an icy glare in response, a rare occasion in which he was in complete agreement with something Morty made him do. The alien wilted under the gaze, and it hurriedly switched its attention to another potential customer who was just coming down the street.

Rick's gaze wandered, allowing him to appreciate how fucking dense this area was. The distant horizon curved upward, revealing a whole colony built into a structure that resembled a massive ribcage. It enclosed the sky and had many hanging structures build upon it. Spaceships of different shapes and sizes flew in and out of docking bays attached to the rib-like formations, being low enough in the atmosphere to create constant background noise. Upon closer inspection, Rick realized his impression of the base structure was exactly correct-- it was a massive leviathan skeleton from eons ago, having reached the size of a continent upon its death, and civilization had since colonized its remains.

Rick felt like he had probably been here before, or at least somewhere similar. But no matter how much he strained, he couldn't remember the place's name for the life of him. All the finer details were either missing or too blurry to be recognizable. There were too many questions he didn't have the answers to. How dangerous was it to be out in the open like this? Were there threats around? Why would someone want to come here?

The place looked to be far from a metropolis, as just from its profile the vast majority of the city seemed to consist of factories, spaceports, or slums. Even the architecture appeared to be mostly made of harsh geometrical edges and dull colors, adding to the rather dreary atmosphere.

Their portal seemed to have taken them to the inner portion of the city, and the market looked bright enough, but it still didn't look much less shady here compared to the distant outer edges. It had taken only a few glances for Rick peg this place as being a haven for criminal activity, and not just because of the location's familiarity. Morty seemed undeterred in coming here, at least, so there had to be _something_ the kid wanted that was worth the detour.

There were a few armed guards around, and they were bipedal and insectoid with a grayish green color. Some had wings. It took barely any time at all for Rick's mind to supply _Gromflomites_ as the species, and he found himself being vaguely disgusted for some reason. Oddly enough, they seemed to be largely ignoring the crowds and disruptive shopkeepers around them, merely talking amongst themselves and the occasional individual. A few times, Rick saw them surreptitiously pocketing money mid-conversation and pointedly looking the other way.

Ah, corruption. You could always count on that being rampant in these backwater Federation territories. Rick paused for a brief second at that recollection. Huh. Where did that come from?

They continued walking through the windings streets, navigating through the dense crowds in a way that made Rick feel rather cramped. He wasn't being ordered to do much aside from lead the way, but there was also an indistinct subtlety wired in there, something that kept his guard up and made him take in his surroundings. The few times he turned to look at Morty, the teenager was wearing his usual emotionless expression, but he too was scanning the storefronts and stalls. What were they looking for, exactly?

“Hey, kid! _Morty_! Is that you?”

Morty froze in his tracks, shoulders stiffening.

Rick turned around automatically, searching for the source of the voice. The crowds were milling about and ignoring them like always, but it didn't take too long before he found it. There was purplish lizard-like alien poking their head out of a nearby store window, staring straight at the two of them. As if to confirm it, they waved a forelimb in the duo's direction.

It could have been easily dismissed as another annoying merchant trying to grab their attention, but this one knew Morty by name. And the way Morty was reacting was the sign of someone who hadn't expected-- or _wanted_ \-- to be recognized.

Rick wasn't looking at Morty anymore, instead having his attention entirely focused on the alien, so he couldn't see what the kid's next move was going to be. With Rick's hand instinctively on the plasma gun and his insides tensing up in anticipation, he half-expected violence to break out right then and there.

“Hi!”

For a split second, Rick didn't realize that Morty had spoken, because that sounded far too earnest and chipper to register as the same person. He turned his head and saw that the boy had a friendly smile on his face, giving the alien a little wave. The tense, deer-in-the-headlights behavior from before was nowhere to be found.

Reality seemed to take on a surreal quality as the two of them walked over to the store counter. Rick could detect a strong chemical scent coming from behind it, like a cross between pool chlorine and window cleaner. There was also a faintly medicinal scent mixed in there, too. Based on the shelves full of labeled jars, flasks, and bottles, it seemed like some sort of… chemistry store? Or a drug store crossed with a hardware store, perhaps. Some of those bottles looked like over-the-counter alien medicine.

The alien running the place was definitely reptilian-looking, with dark violet scales and a broad, toothy snout. However, they also had an extra pair of forelimbs and four slitted eyes, one eye being completely clouded over and milky. Rick couldn't tell if the creature was male or female, although there was always the chance that the species didn't even have those two sexes.

He wasn't left with much time to process it. As soon as they got close enough to the window, Morty propped his arms up on the counter and spoke up again. “Sorry about that, you caught me off guard.”

The lizard-alien grinned, all four eyes fixed on the teenager. “Not a problem! I just haven't seen you around these parts for a while! Thought you might have gotten yourself shot by a fed or something.”

Morty gave an exasperated sigh, but his expression was otherwise good-humored. “Gosh, it's nice to know you have so little faith in me.”

“Hah, well, I doubted it'd actually turn out like that,” the alien said, absentmindedly tapping their claws on the counter. “You're a nice enough kid, you know better than to stir up trouble.”

Rick stared incredulously as the scene unfolded, a profound sentiment of _what the fuck_ filling his mind. But of course, the conversation continued like he wasn't even there.

The lizard-alien appeared to be multitasking with their extra pair of limbs, tipping a vial of some strange liquid into a bowl. “Anyway, cutting the pleasantries, where _have_ you been?”

“Spending time with family, mostly,” Morty said.

The alien made a noise that sounded like a cross between a scoff and a hum. “Sounds exhausting.” They swished the bowl with one hand, and the mixture gave off a sizzling noise before it was promptly poured into a jar. “And have you finished that project yet?”

Morty stood a little more sheepishly. “Well… kind of.” He averted his gaze, and his voice softened somewhat. “It... didn't turn out the way I hoped, but I learned quite a bit from building it. Always a work in progress, you know?”

“Well, you can't break an Oorthgul's spine in a day,” said the alien, almost casually. “You'll get there eventually. Else you'll end up selling boring shit like me, right?” They gave a bark of a laugh, before suddenly looking wistful. “Truth to be told, it's not the worst. Have to move shop every so often to keep the feds off my tail, restocking is a pain, and it's not the most lucrative stuff to sell, but aside from that _…”_

“It seems to be working well enough,” Morty said. “You should be proud of yourself.”

Rick's thoughts were finally starting to catch up with what he was seeing, although that didn't help him all that much. It felt like the entire situation had nosedived into the uncanny valley in a way that practically made his skin crawl.

Morty's act was _disturbingly_ convincing from the outside. The friendliness, the relaxed posture, the sincere manner in which he talked. Even the parts that weren't completely concealed, like his cleverness and confidence, now came off as charismatic rather than creepy.

If Rick hadn't already seen how fucked up Morty truly was, he might have been fooled, too. But even knowing that, this whole display was messing with his head, making it hard to tell what was real and what wasn't. Had it always been this easy for Morty to just... flip a switch?

The reptilian alien seemed to take the compliment rather well, standing up a bit straighter and clicking their tongue. “Always you and knowing what to say, huh?” There was a pause, and then the alien's gaze flickered to Morty's face. “By the way, what happened to your eye?”

Rick thought he saw Morty tense, almost imperceptibly, but then the boy simply shrugged. “Lost it in an accident.”

What a fucking liar. Rick had seen that eye before the patch was put on, and it looked perfectly intact. Although based on the wires, it could possibly be a cybernetic eye of some sort, so Morty's excuse wasn't _completely_ implausible, all things considered. Perhaps the kid was actually being more honest than he seemed, mixing in truths here and there to make his deception more credible. Or maybe Rick was just overthinking it.

Unexpectedly, the alien made a sharp, amused noise. “Hah, that makes two of us, right?” They tapped their cloudy eye, which Rick only now realized was probably a sign of blindness. Then a glint appeared in their remaining eyes. “You know, if it's _recent_ , I probably have something in stock that could regenerate--”

“Thanks, but no,” Morty interrupted sharply. The amicable tone in his voice was gone. “You should know by now that I don't fall for that.”

Annoyance passed over the alien's face for a moment, before switching to a look of resignation. They sighed, almost sounding wistful. “Shame, but I supposed I can't complain. You nearly bought out my whole stock the last few times you were here. What could I sell that you don't already have?”

Morty smiled. It looked rather insincere to Rick, but he wasn't sure if the alien would be able to tell the difference.

Then, as if only now remembering that there was an additional person present, the alien turned to look at Rick. “And who's this?”

Becoming the center of attention made Rick feel weirdly uncomfortable, although that was probably because he wasn't in any position to make a response. Just when he was expecting Morty to divert attention away from the older man, the world ground to a halt.

Something _shifted_ inside of Rick's skull.

Everything was suddenly tight and restrictive around him, far more than usual. Yet he also felt disconnected somehow, his limbs numb and floating on air. There was a sensation in his brain like something cold and heavy was sinking into it, and the words slipped out of his mouth before he could react.

“Why don't you mind your own damn business?”

The lizard-alien seemed taken aback, their four eyes blinking unevenly. “… Excuse me?”

Rick's vocal chords continued moving of their own volition, completely ignoring his growing horror as his body did a small, dismissive shrug. “Yeah, just because the kid's all chummy with you doesn't mean I care. Nobody comes to places like these to make _friends_.”

It felt like something had shoved its way into his skull, smothering him until he could barely think. He was getting that same sort of mental intent as if he were talking of his own free will, that sense of what he wanted to say and how to say it. But the intent he felt now was overpowering, focused, and yet utterly devoid of emotion at the same time. It was largely indistinct, the specifics being impossible to parse in his detached state, but it took only a moment for him to realize _these weren't his thoughts_.

The cold suffocating sensation lifted ever so slightly, leaving Rick rather dazed, as Morty smoothly interrupted his way back into the conversation. “He's just my grandfather. Don't mind him, he's always been a bit of a dick.”

Rick only had a half-second to register what Morty just said-- wait, the two of them were _related?_ \-- before the pressure returned. He turned and scoffed a little, like he was irritated by Morty's comment. The body language felt practiced, but at the same time it came off as far too natural. Like someone had slipped into his skin and was puppeteering him directly, with no intermediate programming or commands to get in the way.

The whole thing was was invasive like nothing else had been up to this point, in a way Rick could barely describe. He struggled to regain control of himself, to force the intrusion out. His thoughts were an incoherent mess of _get out of my head get out of my head get out of my HEAD--_

But nothing was working. It was like clawing at ice. There was a distant flash of irritation, and his panicked struggling was interrupted when the force in his head shoved him down more intensely, creating a sensation not unlike being pinned to the floor by his throat.

_stop **squirming** _

Rick went almost completely still after that.

“I… see.” The alien's voice sounded off-put, yet oddly far away. “Any particular reason that he's with you?”

“Well, actually, it was his idea to come here in the first place,” said Morty, shrugging a bit. “He needs something for one of _his_ projects. I'm just here as backup.”

Rick was only half-focusing on the conversation between the alien and his maybe-grandson at this point, but hearing that made him freeze. Wait, what? Why was _he_ getting blamed for this?

And then Rick-- no, _Morty_ \-- spoke up again, adding onto the previous statement like some particularly twisted ventriloquist act. “And before you ask, it's not some sort of illegal chemical or drug, so you're fresh out of luck.”

The lizard-alien rolled their eyes and crossed both sets of forearms. “No need to get uppity, I'm well aware you weren't headed in my direction. Is what you're looking for sold down near the factory sector? Because there was a sting by the feds there recently. Everyone cleared out.”

“Wouldn't mind giving us directions to a substitute location, would you?” Rick asked, a dry edge to his voice. It didn't exactly sound like a request.

The alien scrutinized him for a moment, eyes narrowed, before huffing in a grudging manner. “You're lucky that I owe Morty a lot, otherwise I'd wouldn't tell you shit. So, what are you looking for?”

“Not getting too specific, but tech components.” He leaned in a little closer. “Rare parts for machines, robots, whatever. The kind of stuff that you can't manufacture without missing a nanometer of detail. Know any place like that?”

The reptilian scratched their chin somewhat. “Hmm… I don't know any vendors specifically selling that stuff, but...” Something seemed to occur to them, and their eyes brightened. They leaned forward. “Your best bet would be to head to sector nineteen. It's not directly next to any of the factories, but it's connected to them via shuttle, meaning a lot of the related shops migrated over there when things went belly up. That good enough for you?”

“Yeah, yeah. It'll work,” Rick said, almost dismissively. He turned to leave. “Come on, Morty.”

The teenager moved to follow, but not before turning to the alien and giving a polite wave. “Thanks for the help!” Morty said cheerfully.

The alien called after them as they walked away. “Come back sometime, you hear?”

And then crushing pressure mercifully lifted from Rick's mind, leaving him with just the usual level of mental restriction as his body kept walking on autopilot. Despite that, he felt shaky and hollow, as if he was having trouble acclimating to the shift.

God, he felt so fucking _violated_. As if the mind control wasn't degrading enough as it was. It wasn't simply the fact that Morty could make him talk. That had barely even come as a surprise, considering everything else the kid had been able to force Rick to do. He just didn't expect it to feel like... that _._

Like someone had forced themselves into his brain, crushing him down. Like his body didn't even belong to him anymore.

And the speech and mannerisms came off as so natural and convincing that he doubted any bystanders would be able to tell the difference. It wasn't robotic or stiff in any way, unlike how he sometimes behaved when receiving orders. By all appearances, there was nothing wrong with him, no reason to suspect anything.

It made him feel even more isolated than before.

Not only that, but something Morty had said during that exchange still stuck with Rick. _Grandfather._ He had called Rick his grandfather. And, strangely enough, it _felt_ like the truth. But although it most likely wasn't a lie, at the same time it felt… wrong? In a similar way to how all of Morty's behavior up to this point had registered as 'wrong'. There was another piece of the puzzle Rick wasn't remembering. And what kind of fucked up kid would do this to a family member, anyway?

He… he'd figure it out later. Yeah.

Now that they had a set destination, their journey through the city went by much quicker. No other aliens interrupted them, although they did make some detours to avoid guards and checkpoints when necessary. All the streets and corridors looked rather homogeneous, so Rick supposed that it was only due to Morty's apparent familiarity with the area that prevented them from getting lost.

Eventually they reached what Rick could only assume was 'sector nineteen'. Like the lizard had said, there was an obvious transport shuttle running through the center of it, crowds of aliens getting on and off at regular intervals. Interestingly enough, the tracks seemed to be built right through the leviathan skeleton's spine, shooting up and down in a straight line along the structure. Up close, the size of the long-dead creature was made even more staggering. Each vertebrae was as tall as a five-story building and over twice as long. No wonder it was a good foundation for a colony.

The construction of the area looked newer, based on the clean concrete and the sheen of the metal buildings, but as expected the shadiness factor hadn't decreased one bit. There were still plenty of stores along the side of the street, ones with big and flashy signs and windows that were barely more trustworthy than the stalls and carts from before. At least there were far fewer merchants bothering passerby here.

Many of the stores appeared to be hardware focused, with various robots and electronics on display. Any one of them seemed to match the description of what Morty was looking for, but although the kid would slow down to examine them, it only took a glance or two for the kid to dismiss most of them outright. The seedier the place looked, the longer the examination took.

Eventually their options were cut down to the shadiest places, which weren't along the main street, but along smaller, more desolate side streets. Some were even in actual alleyways. It was one of these places that Morty finally seemed to settle on.

It was dreary and windowless, sitting alone near the end of a corridor. The sign by the door was written in a particularly obscure alien language, but Rick could still read it well enough.

 

_PRICELESS, SALVAGED materials! ADVANCED circuitry!_

_\- Every part a roboticist needs from across the galaxy (Levels of assembly vary)_

_\- Sold in the following conditions:_

_* Used_

_* Heavily Used_

_* New_

_\- NO QUESTIONS ASKED_

_\- NO REFUNDS FOR USED ITEMS_

 

It was obviously suspicious, but at the same time it seemed almost… mundane, at least compared to everything else. Rick wasn't sure what Morty saw in it. Well, all searches had to start somewhere, he supposed.

As usual, Rick went through first, pushing the door open with a creak. There was a faint dinging noise to indicate their arrival, but otherwise it was quiet. Only the faint whirring of ventilation systems and computer processors filled the silence.

The interior of the store was dim, cramped, and looked more like a workshop than anything. The only indication that it was supposed to be selling things was the half-dead neon sign hung up over a counter, flashing prices in alien writing. There were wires and metal parts scattered everywhere, and unfinished robotic frames were hung up against the wall. The floor was coated in some sort of grungy substance, and a good portion of the items on display looked well-worn or even rusty.

After browsing around for a minute or two, someone finally seemed to be alerted to their presence. There was the sound of scuffling behind the counter, as well as muffled vocalizations. There was a pause, then the presumed shopkeeper came through the back door and up to the register.

Rick's first impression was of a giant armadillo, or perhaps an oversized silverfish. The alien was multilimbed yet bipedal, and all parts of their body were armored with the exception of their head and forelimbs tentacles. Their face looked like a cross between a wasp and a vulture's, and their beady black eyes regarded the visitors with suspicion.

“So,” they said after a pause. Their voice had a strange crackling quality, probably caused by a lower-quality translator. “Buying anything?”

There was that shifting sensation in Rick's head, and he mentally shuddered as the intense pressure pushed him down again, creating that strange disconnect from his body while simultaneously crushing him into a corner. Once more he had the feeling of his thoughts being pressed in horribly close proximity to someone else's. Fuck, it was like something was grabbing the inside of his _skull_.

Still, he didn't dare move. He was so fucking pathetic, letting this happen to him without doing anything about it, but the fear was paralyzing. It was like being held at knifepoint, and he didn't know what Morty would do to him if he started struggling again. At least he had been somewhat expecting the sensation this time, but it didn't make coping with it any easier.

With some difficulty, Rick kept his focus outward. If nothing else, he could at least make himself pay attention. The last thing he needed was to get too absorbed in his head and lose track of what was happening around him.

“Depends,” Rick said. There was a faint pull in his mind, and he snapped his fingers. As if on cue, Morty stepped forward and retrieved the detached drone component from his pocket. Without a word, he dropped it on the store countertop, and Rick continued. “You have any of these in stock?”

The shopkeeper's eyes widened at the sight of the small, cylindrical object. They reached out a tentacle and nudged it around with disbelief, as if to examine it from every angle. “Is this… a fabricator?” There was an almost excited gleam in their eyes. “Impressive. Most impressive. Nobody but the federal construction fleets and licensed factories are supposed to have access to them. Finicky to build in the first place, too, what with the internal nanotubes...”

“Yeah, I know, and this one's broken,” Rick interrupted. He placed his hand on the object, presumably to prevent the alien from getting too eager and possibly swiping it. “Only the deconstructor portion works. So do you have them stocked or not?”

The greedy look in the alien's eyes vanished, almost with a twinge of disappointment. They withdrew their tentacle, their expression becoming neutral. “Of course, of course. Only a few, though. I can't exactly talk about my stock openly, considering the risk, but since you were _kind_ enough to get straight to the point…”

The shopkeeper got up and scurried to the backroom behind the counter. Before the door closed, Rick caught a glimpse of shiny metal components hidden within, stacked on shelves. A marked contrast in quality to what was on display in the shop itself, weirdly enough.

With the lull in the conversation, the pressure in Rick's head lifted slightly, allowing him some amount of relief. But he couldn't turn to see what Morty was up to, as much as he had the urge to. So far, the kid was being quiet and letting 'Rick' do all the talking. It was… eerie.

A few minutes later, the alien returned, gripping something small and metallic in one tentacle. They placed it on the counter in front of Rick. “Here,” they said, almost proudly. “It's lightly used, but that's good for you since it lowers the cost, hm?”

“Whatever,” Rick said, not even looking at the alien anymore. The moment the object had been placed on the countertop, he snatched it up and examined it closely, turning it every which way. It was definitely a fabricator, being virtually identical to the one Morty had brought in. Rick didn't really know what he was supposed to be looking for, exactly, but Morty certainly was making him scrutinize this thing down to the molecular level.

The alien was still talking, although Rick could distantly sense that Morty was tuning them out. It was unsettling how he was just able to _k_ _now_ that, now that he was being controlled manually like this.

“Now, part of me wants to ask _why_ you would want this. But my rule is no questions asked, and I do my best to stick to that. And it goes both ways, so no asking me how I got hold of the fabricator in the first place. Anyway, that'll be thirty thousand--”

Rick abruptly dropped the fabricator back down on the table. “Pass.”

The shopkeeper froze at the interruption. “Pardon?”

“This one has a defect,” Rick explained. He pointed to the open end of the cylinder. “Jagged edge, right down the inside of the barrel. It won't work.”

Rick's gaze _had_ lingered on the inside portion of the component a little longer than normal. It occurred to him that there was no way Morty could've figured anything out from that unless he had access to Rick's senses, or at least his vision, and that realization just added a whole new layer of fucked up to this shitfest of a situation.

Meanwhile, the alien looked oddly expressionless. “Hm. Strange.”

They didn't sound nearly as surprised as they should have been.

It wasn't just Rick who noticed it, as from what he could tell the implications weren't lost on Morty, either. The mood of the room suddenly became a lot darker.

“Well, it _was_ lightly used,” the alien said. “Are you sure it was an actual defect? It could be--”

“Look, I'm not expecting a pillbug like you to know your way around this stuff,” Rick said, his voice low and sharp. “But I've worked with fabricator technology before. It's busted, even more than the one I brought in. I'm not buying it.”

The alien looked downright insulted. To their credit, they managed to keep their response to an irritated glare as they took back the offered fabricator. “… Alright, then. I'll bring out one of the other ones. Let's see if that one will be more to your liking.” And with that, they once again headed to the backroom.

Maybe it was just that exchange pushing it over the edge, but Rick was slowly starting to pin down another reason why this whole thing was disturbing him so much-- Morty was _scarily_ good at emulating Rick's personality. Nearly everything being said sounded like something Rick would say in this situation, give or take a few words.

Admittedly, there was still something a little… off about it, as though the teenager's own uncanny qualities were leaking through the facade. Rick's voice was measured and even, which sounded unnatural for reasons the man couldn't quite pin down. His demeanor came off as a shade more ruthless, and obviously his motives didn't match up in the slightest. But there was nothing that was a total red flag, either. There was more abrasiveness, impatience, and exaggeration in every category, but beneath that surface layer it was still _Morty_ talking. Everything was just filtered and carefully reworded through a Rick-like lens.

But… something was missing. It didn't make any _sense_. What was the point? Why was any of this necessary? Morty had already shown how easily he could negotiate and manipulate people on his own, back when he was talking with the reptilian alien. But now, he wasn't even contributing as backup. The shopkeeper had shot a few weird glances at Morty, but was otherwise ignoring the kid completely. Why was Morty going out of his way put on a completely different act through Rick?

The shopkeeper alien returned with a replacement fabricator, apparently even more lightly used than the previous one. But after a second examination, Rick found yet another defect, even though it was so subtle he had almost missed it. Morty was a stickler for quality, apparently.

This cycle happened about two more times with the following fabricators, both which had varying levels of quality but still had some defect hidden in there. The alien was also getting increasingly indignant about the rejections, almost like the insinuation that anything they were selling wasn't perfect was personally offensive to them.

It reached the point where the shopkeeper practically slammed the third one on the counter. “This is the last one,” they said, glaring. “So if you _still_ manage to find something wrong with it, tough luck. I'm not bringing out more.”

Rick had already picked it up with his fingers, studying it in an almost absentminded manner. “Is it, though?”

“What?”

He placed it back down. Morty had already identified a flaw, but the kid didn't seem interested in having Rick bring it up at the moment. “The last one, I mean. You know, I find it hard to believe that all the fabricators you have stocked are completely defective.”

“I told you, I don't have any more,” the shopkeeper asserted. “Like you said, what do I know about fabricator tech? Could be that I just missed all of what you're seeing.”

“You seemed to know plenty when I first brought my own fabricator in,” Rick said.

The shopkeeper alien didn't seem to have a rebuttal to that. It left plenty of room for Rick to continue speaking. He could tell that Morty's patience was wearing a bit thin, although Rick didn't have much preemptive sympathy for the alien.

“I'm just saying, I don't like people who try to scam me. I don't appreciate it when they hold out on me, either. I'm going to guess that you have a perfectly manufactured fabricator back there, and you're not giving it up because you know how valuable it is and want to keep it for yourself. Which, hey, I get it. I'd do the same thing if I got something that rare and useful. Except,” Rick gave a rather creepy smirk, one which was disturbingly familiar. “I'm not leaving until I get what I came here for. So it's probably a good idea for you to hurry things along.”

The alien seemed almost baffled. “… Is that a threat?”

“Just stating a fact,” Rick said. “You can read into it however you want.”

Despite that and Rick's relaxed posture, it was abundantly clear what Morty's intentions were, simply from the older man's body language. He was already taller than the alien and was now thoroughly exploiting it, leaning himself over the counter and closing the space in a way that could only be read as an intimidation display. He was also not breaking eye contact in the slightest. More subtly, his hand was also resting on the hilt of the plasma gun, although it was unlikely the alien had caught that part.

And the threat was definitely working. The shopkeeper looked incredibly uncomfortable, shifting a bit in place.

“I could report this,” they said. “You'd be dead the moment you step out the door.”

“And that would be suicide in more ways than one, wouldn't it?” Rick drawled.

The alien stewed for a moment, as if fighting with themselves internally. If they had teeth, Rick was sure they'd be grinding them. Finally, they gave in, eyes narrowing. “… _Fine_. But first, I'm going to need that back.” They reached out and grabbed the last faulty fabricator off the counter, a bit more aggressively than normal, and then they retreated to the backroom for the last time.

When they came back, they were carrying another fabricator, but this one seemed sleeker and cleaner than the rest. With great reluctance, they deposited it on the countertop, their expression unreadable.

Rick picked it up and studied it, just like he had done with the previous ones. It took a few additional minutes to examine every side and part of it, but that just proved Morty's hunch correct. This fabricator was practically flawless.

“That will be one hundred thousand credits.”

Rick's head immediately jerked up upon hearing that, and he saw that the alien had an almost smug look on their face. Damn, that was _dirty_. Even with the memory problems, some subconscious part of him reacted to that price with _holy_ _shit that's expensive._ In hindsight, it wasn't that surprising that the alien sneaked in one last asshole move to try to dissuade them.

Which is why it took both him and the shopkeeper completely off guard when Rick's body retained his smile and calm demeanor. He pulled the small sack out of his pocket, triumphantly dropping it on the desk. “ _Deal._ ”

The alien's eyes were wide, and as they opened the sack and started counting the heavy pile of high-value currency within, their eyes widened even further. They obviously hadn't expected the two of them to be able to actually afford it.

“Actually,” they said slowly. “I misspoke. How about two hundred thousand--”

There was the high-pitched whine of a plasma gun being armed, and a split second later Morty was pointing his weapon directly at the shopkeeper's head.

Rick moved his gaze away from the teenager and resumed staring down the alien. “Trying to raise the price after we already made a payment? That's a new low.”

The alien looked rather pinned by the situation, their eyes flicking rapidly between Rick, Morty, and the gun. But there was a hint of defiance in their voice as they spoke. “At least I'm not making a _kid_ do my dirty work.”

Rick's temper almost snapped at that. Maybe it was just from being blamed for something he didn't do, and while parts of this conversation had already been doing that, this… this was explicit. The alien had it completely reversed. _Rick_ was being made to do dirty work here. Morty was the one behind all of this, it wasn't fucking _him,_ damn it!

And Morty must have sensed his indignation, because the little shit practically rubbed it in with what Rick said next. “Like I care about what you think. He's useful, isn't he? Does whatever I tell him to.” His smirk widened. “You wish you could sell machines that work half as well.”

Rick felt like his blood was boiling. _S_ _top using me as your fucking scapegoat, you piece of sh--_

Then it clicked.

A _scapegoat_.

The shopkeeper alien was giving him a death glare, even as they took the money. “Get out of here before I make you.”

Rick shrugged. “Whatever you say.” He slipped the new fabricator in his inner pocket, then turned around and started walking back through the shop. Morty followed, but the kid didn't take his aim off of the alien until the two of them were right by the door. Rick reached into his coat for the portal gun.

There was a sharp blasting noise, and Rick felt heat graze his shoulder before the shot collided with the wall in front of him, leaving a burning mark. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he whipped around.

The alien was pointing a pistol-like weapon at him, a look of spiteful fury on their face. Upon seeing that they missed their target, though, their eyes widened in sheer panic.

“Shouldn't have done that,” Rick said darkly. There was some hint of sadistic glee mixed into his voice.

The alien rushed to move, but it was too late.

There was the pull of _kill_ in Rick's brain and his fingers were on the plasma gun's trigger in an instant. The alien was blasted back against the wall, their head exploded into chunks and their dark green blood splattering against the concrete.

The weapon lightly sizzled in Rick's hand. It was just as quick and messy as killing the venomous monsters had been the day prior.

The pressure retreated from his brain, creating a vaguely disorienting sense of vertigo as his mind adjusted. A mental tug prompted him to withdraw the portal gun from his pocket, and he shot it against the wall, causing a glowing green portal to open up. But Rick wasn't all that focused on his surroundings right now. He couldn't stop himself from thinking.

This… this was the real reason Morty was keeping him around, wasn't it?

It wasn't just for a power trip or needing extra muscle. Those were still factors, yes, but neither of them were the _main_ reason. What the teenager really needed, and what this trip so clearly illustrated, was someone to act as a distraction, a diversion, someone to take the fall.

And as Rick stepped through the portal, he couldn't stop himself from seething.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the longest and most dialogue-heavy chapter so far, which probably explains why it took so long for me to write it. that plus classes taking away my free time, but yeah
> 
> also you didn't think evil morty waited until the campaign to be a manipulative little shit, did you
> 
> (progress updates and occasional doodles related to the fic can be found on my mostly-otherwise-inactive tumblr [here](https://the-awful-falafel.tumblr.com/)!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets darker in this one, just a heads up.

Rick felt like he was slowly losing his grip on reality.

It had been, what, one week? Two? Probably not more than that, although he could barely keep track anymore. He was mostly estimating based on the number of sleep cycles Morty had put him through, but even then it was increasingly difficult to tell. Time simultaneously seemed to be moving too slow and too fast.

Morty had wasted no time after they got back from the alien market. With the first drone fully operational, the teenager had uploaded a highly complex blueprint to its database, and it immediately got to work constructing new fabricators. It made sense that Morty would require more drones in order to build whatever he was planning, but since a fabricator was an extremely delicate component that needed exact precision to build correctly, each one took almost two days to fully assemble. And this wasn't even mentioning the fact that a fabricator was useless without a drone body attached to it.

So in the meantime, the two of them had fallen into a… _routine_ of sorts. It mostly consisted of more drone construction and intensive, if varied work to advance Morty's agenda, and while they didn't always stay within the bunker or do the exact same activities each day, it still slipped into an easily recognizable pattern.

It was almost identical to the structure established before. Every morning, right after Rick woke up, he would be recalibrated. It barely seemed like a punishment anymore, and the only explanation he could come up with was that the process had become more like a general maintenance procedure. Rebooting and readjusting the mind control tech on a regular basis seemed like something that would be useful in keeping Rick securely under control. It was like restarting a computer every day in order to keep it running smoothly and prevent data overflow.

And the process still left Rick too disoriented to even attempt fighting back, so Morty was free to make him do whatever in the time it took for the dizziness to wear off. The teenager didn't always take advantage of this, but every so often he'd drag Rick over to the helmet room and hook him up again. This was always followed by Morty uploading a new program or fix, and Rick had gotten to the point where he stopped trying to figure out what they did. He later discovered one of them improved his dexterity with weapons, and another shortened the time it took for him to respond to complex orders, so it seemed like Morty was refining how he behaved on autopilot, but he didn't want to theorize about the rest. He'd never learn their purpose until it became relevant, and he already had so much other shit on his plate, so why bother?

_Don't think about it,_ he thought, almost instinctively. A small part of him wanted to laugh. That was happening a lot more, lately.

On some days, it was limited to just the helmet, then Morty would unhook Rick and they'd leave. On others, it was followed by, well… he wasn't sure how to describe it as anything other than a “check-up”.

Morty would make Rick sit down in a chair, then he would proceed to take his vitals and evaluate his physical condition. The first few times it happened, Rick was honestly terrified the kid was going to make him strip, but it ended up being surprisingly tame, aside from the fact that it frequently involved Morty touching him. It never got _weird_ , necessarily, especially with how clinically detached it was, but it was impossible to not feel uncomfortable with fingers pressed up against his jugular to take his pulse, or when a bright light was shined in his eyes to check pupil contraction.

Not to mention how Rick's body was unnervingly relaxed and permissive in response to being handled, no matter how vulnerable he actually felt and how much he wanted to flinch away. The whole process made him feel like a workhorse being inspected.

Following that, they'd eat breakfast. Like before, it was almost always something from a can, since Morty had a massive supply in the cabinets that vaguely reminded Rick of how one would stock a bomb shelter. He had never seen the kid prepare anything more complex than canned food, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to. When he was hungry it was easier to ignore, but it was obvious that Morty's cooking skills were… _passable_ at best.

After that was when it got more complicated. They'd work on whatever Morty thought was most important at the time, which was usually nothing unexpected, but sometimes it seemed to be completely random and unrelated.

The first few days-- _was_ it only a few days?-- it was nonstop drone building. Morty already had the underlying frames built, so it was more of a matter of screwing compartments together, fitting in the circuitry, and welding the external plating. With concentrated effort, they could get one finished per day, minus the fabricator. Like before, Rick was made to fetch tools and components for the most part, but Morty actually enlisted him to help out with the more complicated assembly a few times. Rick was still prevented from sticking his hands anywhere critical, but it was clear that Morty had regained some confidence in his control over the man to even risk that much. Or maybe he just wanted to get it done faster.

Eventually, however, Morty started alternating with other activities. One of the more notable ones was distilling the venom that was still stored in the fridge. This involved heating it up repeatedly until all the extraneous compounds were vaporized, leaving a rather viscous substance behind. It would then be mixed and diluted with another chemical, creating a liquid solution that was faintly tinted pink. Rick wasn't sure that he had the willpower to fully analyze what the final mixture was for, but it was clearly going to integrate the venom's sedating effect in some way. Perhaps that additional chemical worked as an amplifier?

Again, Rick was permitted a surprisingly in-depth role working with the venom, but that was also probably because resisting was far more likely to damage himself in this case, especially since it involved handling _boiling chemicals_. Even without his other reservations holding him back, he wouldn't want to fight when the risk was this disproportionate.

Morty also started taking them on brief trips outside the bunker, portaling to other planets rather than exploring the one they were currently on. Of the three visited, none looked the slightest bit inhabited, although their habitability in the first place was questionable. The trips took less than fifteen minutes each, as they mostly consisted of Morty looking around aimlessly. Rick seemed dragged along almost as an afterthought. It was almost like the kid was scoping out the locations for… something.

The first location was a scorching desert planet of lilac sand, with scraggly, half-dead trees scattered everywhere. It was wide and flat, with occasional stretches of sandstone. The temperature seemed like it'd get unbearable after a while, but thankfully Morty had the forethought to leave early before the risk of heatstroke became a real possibility.

The second location was a murky swamp planet with a green foggy sky. Spiky outcrops of rock and moss stood out in the terrain, and alien trees grew up out of the muddy soil. The atmosphere was breathable enough, but Rick couldn't help but be suspicious about whatever vapor was coming out of the glowing vents in the ground.

The third looked to be in a massive cavern where the ceiling was hundreds of meters above them. Bioluminescent lichen on the rocks allowed some amount of visibility, and deep ravines in the ground were bridged with giant root-like structures. The air was a little thinner than what Rick was used to, leaving him somewhat light-headed, but it didn't seem worse than what one would find in Earth's highest mountains. Aside from the enclosed and limited air circulation, admittedly.

After all that, their evenings were relatively unremarkable in comparison. They'd have a canned dinner, squeeze in a little extra work if possible, and then Morty would order Rick to sleep. Rick's personal hygiene was only addressed every other day, and it was slotted in right at the end. He was made to shave, brush, and take a five-minute shower with uncomfortably cool water at full blast. It was a miracle he didn't get hypothermia by the time he changed into a fresh set of clothes.

Rick had no idea when Morty would go to sleep after he did. He had a suspicion that the answer ranged from “much later” to “never”. Some days the kid looked downright exhausted. Once, in the middle of a work session, he straight up fell asleep on his desk, leaving Rick to stand there and slowly panic for twelve minutes until Morty finally jerked awake again. He must have been working on something well into the night, which showed some unhealthy commitment if nothing else.

Rick tried to keep track of all of the different activities as they happened, if only because he was still trying to figure out what Morty was even planning, but it was… difficult, more than it should've been. It wasn't just him losing the ability to track time effectively, either. Lately, it felt like he was losing sense of his body entirely. He was still getting complete sensory feedback and everything, but sometimes, he didn't feel like himself. And in a way, he wasn't. His body was following Morty's orders, moving without his input, which made it easy to forget that it was still technically _his_. His eyes and limbs would feel too weird, too alien, like he was looking out of a stranger's body. He'd be so distant and detached from his own skin that when he'd snap back, several minutes would have passed, or even a half hour, and he wouldn't remember what had happened. It was like he was… drifting. It took conscious effort to anchor himself down enough so that he could focus.

He couldn't even argue with Morty's increasing boldness in making him do important tasks, since half the time, he felt too numb and mentally exhausted to try taking advantage of it anyway. Occasionally he tried to muster up the energy to disrupt something, but then the spark of fear would hit and drain him of whatever gave him energy in the first place.

It felt like a warning sign that he should be paying more attention to. That was happening a lot more frequently. Another problem Rick was noticing was his growing inability to control his emotions, which seemed to fluctuate without warning. He'd be neutral for a while, watching his surroundings without feeling much of anything, and then there would be a sudden surge of anger blotting out all his thoughts. Other times he would find everything uncontrollably amusing, no matter how minor or stupid. And sometimes crippling despair would hit and he'd just wish for it all to end.

Each mood swing would last anywhere from a few minutes to an hour, and they were almost impossible to predict or notice while in the moment. His train of thought would stop and shift abruptly. It'd feel like an uncontrollable surge of energy in some cases, driving him to think things that he'd recognize as batshit insane or reckless any other time. Especially in his intensely angry and murderous moods-- _fuck that fucking piece of shit Morty, what_ _does_ _that asshole_ _think he_ _'s_ _doing?_ _I'm_ _not_ _going to_ _sit_ _back_ _and take this shit no fucking way_ _let's see how he likes it when I fucking kill him_ \-- where for a moment, he'd almost, _almost_ lash out again. And then he'd get the whiplash of returning to a more stable mindset just in time to stop himself. Sometimes he was too late, and he'd only snap back once the pain hit.

Rick supposed his complete isolation had something to do with it. Being unable to talk or interact with the world around him in any meaningful way was more maddening than he first realized. He had all these thoughts circulating with no real outlet, and it caused him to sink deeper and deeper into his own head until he felt like he was driving himself insane. Focusing outward on what his body was doing was a decent enough distraction, he supposed, but it wasn't enough to be a long-term coping strategy.

The problem was, the only person who he could possibly talk to in this situation was _Morty._ Not only was the idea ludicrous, but the teenager seemed committed to barely acknowledging Rick's existence in the first place. Several days had already went by without a single word spoken between the two of them.

It wasn't like Rick didn't try to incite anything, either. There was a point a couple days ago where he mentally cursed at and insulted Morty for nearly forty minutes, getting more and more elaborate as time went on. It was an attempt to get _any_ sort of reaction out of the kid, because fuck it, Morty had already provoked something out of him a few times, so he might as well return the favor.

Because it wasn't like Morty was actually ignoring him, far from it. Rick could practically feel the uncomfortable sense of the teenager watching his every move, tracing his every thought. And he knew Morty was paying attention most of the time, because despite the silence he would subtly react to what Rick was thinking. If Rick was handling something important at the time his thoughts started turning mutinous, Morty would instantly make him stop his current action and switch to something lower risk. If Rick made a particularly scathing observation or comment, he sometimes saw Morty pause in whatever he was doing, if only for a second.

So it wasn't surprising that after a short while, Morty had put down the vial he was holding and looked straight at Rick. The older man hated how that emotionless stare always made his insides go cold.

“I didn't install that program because I wanted to _talk_ with you,” Morty said, tone indifferent.

That had made Rick fall silent. Because fuck, that was really what he was doing, wasn't he? He didn't really irritate Morty as much as he intended, and yet here he was, feeling almost relieved that he got any response at all. He knew by now that Morty paying attention to him was never a good sign and never something he should be seeking out. Was he really _that_ desperate for any kind of social interaction?

Morty turned away soon after, seemingly returning to ignoring Rick as well. But a few moments later, after Rick had already been made to resume his own work, Morty muttered something under his breath. “… Although having an audience is kind of interesting, I guess.”

Rick had paused at that, but Morty didn't say anything more. The older man wasn't sure what to make of that statement, if he even heard it correctly. Was that all Morty saw him as? A spectator?

If only Rick could get himself drunk, maybe everything would be slightly more bearable, but he hadn't been given a drop of alcohol since he first woke up. It wasn't like Morty didn't have any, either. Rick had personally seen the bastard dip into a stash of whiskey at mealtimes, although only in small quantities. It seemed to be denied to Rick purely out of spite. The sight of the substance gave him an aching feeling in his stomach that wouldn't go away, not even after he'd eaten his fill.

Rick knew all of these… _symptoms_ were an effect of being trapped in his own head for an extended period of time, but he still couldn't help his frustration. Two weeks wasn't even _long._ It shouldn't be any problem for him to deal with. He could vaguely recall a memory where he was imprisoned in solitary confinement for almost a month before he managed to break out. Compared to that, this was nothing. Certainly not long enough for him to start slipping like this.

He ignored how he also remembered similar side effects appearing in the second half of that memory, enough that his recollection of that part was even fuzzier than usual. And he also ignored the difference of how occasional interrogations had broken up the monotony, meaning he didn't deal with the isolated feeling on a constant basis.

Most importantly, he had full control over himself, had an escape plan, and could take refuge in both of those facts. Even in dire situations, if he felt that he had a certain amount of control, he could push through it with a level head. But this? This was a situation of absolutely no control, of being locked in the back of his brain and not being even able to move his body to confirm that he was still real. Even his nightmares didn't normally approach this level. He couldn't do _anything_.

He recoiled and wanted to slap himself for that thought. That wasn't true, fuck that. He still had one sliver of control afforded to him. Even though Morty was working like hell to condition it out of him, Rick was still capable of resisting the commands. Hadn't it been Rick who damaged the drone? Hadn't it been him, working of his own free fucking will, who had interrupted the venom hunting and consequently got Morty slashed in the side? Yes, he also had gotten a deep and bloody bite wound in his shoulder, which had long since scarred over, but it had been _worth it_.

Rick needed to be single-mindedly focused on that. He needed to stay alert, aware, not losing his concentration like this. It didn't matter how much Morty was aware of Rick's thoughts and intentions now-- sooner or later, the bastard would slip up. When that opportunity showed itself, Rick needed to seize it without any second of hesitation.

Maybe he could actually get Morty killed this time, wouldn't that be interesting? He almost found it unsettling how much the idea satisfied him, and he vaguely wondered if it was normal to want to murder a teenager this much. There was a solid chance that it still wouldn't break the control, and Rick would be forced to stand idle until his body broke down, but… he didn't really feel like that mattered. Better than continuing to be a tool and scapegoat, at any rate. If he was going to die, it might as well be in the process of taking Morty down with him.

So Rick kept waiting. And waiting. And _waiting_. That's all he could even _do_ right now. But he wasn't sure how long he could hold out. Days, weeks, months? _As long as_ _necessary_ , he stubbornly told himself, but it felt like a lie. There was that growing sense of hysteria that he was just barely suppressing in the back of his mind, that crawling sense of unreality like a caged animal who couldn't find an escape.

He wasn't sure if it was that more desperate mindset that led to him starting to resist again.

It had started yesterday, sometime in the afternoon, when they were out hunting. Morty had recently introduced a new, albeit familiar activity to the daily schedule-- going outside and harvesting animal parts. For better or for worse, it didn't involve any dangerous venomous aliens this time around, nor did it involve killing the creatures afterward. That wasn't to say it was done in the most clean and humane manner, though. It usually involved seizing a sample of carapace or skin or blood, without any regard to the distress of the alien in the process. Morty seemed to be harvesting genetic material, although as usual Rick didn't have the energy to try to figure out why.

They were going after a wide variety of creatures, too, spread in different areas across the planet. This desolate rock had a surprising amount of biodiversity when examined closely. They started easy, targeting slow or immobile species. There was a land-dwelling organism that resembled a sea urchin crossed with brain coral, and Rick broke a few spines off of while avoiding getting pricked. They tore a chunk of carapace from a passive multi-headed millipede-like creature, which screeched in pain and scuttled away afterward. They even snapped a branch off of a vividly purple alien tree, which curled in on itself and retracted its leaves upon being damaged.

The day afterward, they had moved on to creatures of more moderate difficulty, ones that required a bit more stealth to approach. One of them was a green lobster-looking creature with a frankly disturbing amount of teeth, scuttling around near tide pools, although it thankfully only came up to Rick's knees. The other one was an armored gecko-like alien with eight limbs and a forked tail, barely the size of a cat, and it tended to quickly disappear through cracks in the ground when it noticed danger.

They were hunting the toothy lobsters when Rick ended up resisting. It was a spontaneous, split-second decision, and in hindsight he couldn't really tell the reason behind it. One moment he was distantly watching himself sneak up on the lobster alien from behind with his weapon drawn, the next moment he felt a surge of _something_ , and he pushed back. His legs suddenly jerked and gave out for a half second, causing him to stagger and scrape his feet against the ground. The sound alerted the alien, and it bolted away immediately, submerging itself in the local pool in the span of a second.

Rick was swiftly punished after that, familiar pain lancing through his synapses and almost making him regret everything. And despite return of the torturous pain and overwhelming fear, for the first time there was another quality paradoxically mixed into it. The pain was so viscerally _real_ that Rick found himself clinging onto it more than he expected. It was like a shock to his system, anchoring him better to reality than anything he'd attempted previously.

Still, at least initially, the conditioned fear and exhaustion won out again, leaving Rick compliant enough to not interfere with the next few alien lobsters they sampled. Morty chose to involve himself much more closely, capturing the creatures himself sometimes, so it wasn't like Rick had much of a chance to mess things up anyway.

But that lack of opportunity didn't bother him for some reason. There was this weird intoxication rising up in his mind, clashing with his twitchiness but somehow also being accentuated by it. And before he knew it, Rick resisted again, this time causing his muscles to relax when he was holding a squirming alien gecko-thing, which nearly let it slip out of his grasp. Morty waited until after they had managed to successfully grapple the creature and slice off a part of its tail tip before inflicting punishment on Rick again.

And Rick kept resisting, and he kept getting shocked. Again, and again. He resisted four more times that day. It was a mental seesaw of being paralyzed by panic and snapping back every time the pain hit, his survival instincts desperately screaming at him to _stop stop_ _stop_ _STOP_ , and then that strange overwhelming feeling that would return and make him do it again. It didn't matter how pointless it was, how little he was affecting things. He couldn't stop himself.

The pattern continued into today, where Rick had resisted twice during the morning and about three additional times so far during the midday routine. But the crippling pain was starting to get to him again, the more logical part of his brain starting to protest. The impulse fueling him was already withering away somewhat, as if he was getting more hesitant. This couldn't be worth it. It wasn't like he was even hurting Morty with this. What was he even doing?

But it was okay, really. It was fine. Everything was _fine_. The pain meant he was feeling something, that he existed. It shocked him out of the deadened fugue he was falling into more and more often. He was forcing the universe to acknowledge him for once in his fucking life _._

He didn't care. He didn't care. He didn't _care_.

And then the next time Rick resisted, Morty didn't punish him.

It had been one of the few times Rick had actually caused damage, too. He had been kept away from anything critical for a while now, so this time he ended up breaking something relatively unimportant, almost by accident. He had resisted in a way that made his body lose its balance, causing him to stagger to the side and bump into a table. An empty glass flask was knocked off and shattered into pieces against the ground, the sound deafening in the silence.

And yet, even though Rick's chest tightened in anticipation, no pain came. He looked up and saw Morty staring at the mess with a completely blank expression. After a moment, the teenager gave a heavy sigh, and he got up and silently approached it. He leaned down and started cleaning up the pieces, being careful not to cut himself on the broken glass. Eventually, he gathered them up in a small pan and carried them over to the wastebin. He didn't even look at Rick.

Rick didn't expect that to be what sapped away the rest of his energy. He expected that manic impulsiveness from before to return and encourage him to resist again, especially because there wasn't any punishment this time, but he just felt... _hollow_. Something was very wrong here. Why wasn't Morty reacting?

And for most of the remaining day, it definitely seemed like Morty wasn't going to make any response to the incident. They continued working as usual, and it went by even faster now that Rick had unexpectedly lost his motivation to fight back. Most of the work was focused on the drones. The fabricators had finally been completed last night, so all that was left was to attach them to the drone bodies that were already built. Due to it being a rather simple operation, it didn't take any more than an hour, and all the drones added up to a small fleet of six in total, including the initial drone they had created.

Individual testing confirmed that each of the machines could construct and deconstruct without error, which already cleared the biggest hurdle. However, it was unclear how well they'd work as a synchronized unit, so Morty took the drones down to the base of the mountain for some outdoor experimenting. Rick was made to follow, although he wasn't sure for what reason. The sun was setting, casting long shadows and a violet tint over the landscape.

They walked to their destination rather than taking a portal. It was probably to save on portal gun charge, considering the relatively close distance, but it still took nearly half an hour to reach the bottom. The entire way down, Morty kept his back turned to Rick. He still hadn't acknowledged the man since earlier, and Rick couldn't help but be unsettled by the prolonged silence.

Once they reached the bottom and walked ahead for a short while, something came into view. Resting at the foot of the mountain cliff, hidden in a crater-looking alcove, was a ruined alien spacecraft. It didn't look much bigger than a small fighter jet, but it was impossible to tell its original shape since it had long since shattered into messy pieces, as though it crashed and fractured against the ground before colliding into the solid rock. It looked like it had been there for decades, with its titanium exterior being well-worn and coated in a fine layer of dust and grit, and the insignia along its side being too faded to make out. A few spindly weeds had even sprung up in cracks in the plating, like nature was reclaiming it.

It was barely surprising, then, that this was what Morty planned on testing the drones on. It wasn't like it was too big an object to take apart, after all. All construction drones utilized pocket dimension technology in order to absorb several tons of material at a time.

With a single order sent via tablet, all six of them flew forward, surrounding the ship like a swarm of wasps. With a light blue glow and a synchronized hum, they started deconstructing different parts of the wreckage, slowly and meticulously. Even with all six of them, it still looked like it would take a few minutes to completely eat away at the hull.

Morty had put away the controller and was simply standing back to watch. Rick could understand why. Watching the outer plating disintegrate was oddly hypnotic, like seeing a newspaper burn up in a fireplace, holes growing and burning at the edges. For a moment or so, there were no sounds except for the faint sizzling of the deconstruction and the whirring of the drones.

“I honestly thought you would have given up by now.”

Morty's voice was quiet, but it still gave Rick a jolt. He turned his head to look at the teenager. From this angle, the only visible part of Morty's face was his eye patch, rendering his expression unreadable.

Rick was mostly surprised that he was actually being talked to again, after… how many days had it been? Although the comment still took him off guard, as well as sending a prickling feeling down his neck. Why would Morty think that? The kid must have detected his confusion, because he continued speaking only a moment later.

“I mean, it's a reasonable assumption to make,” Morty said. “I've been trying to be patient, all things considered, but it's getting to the point where it's a little… grating. I'm not sure what you're even getting out of it anymore. Is it pride? Spite? Satisfaction? It's weird, it's like even _you_ don't know.”

The older man felt heavy at those words, because they weren't wrong. There was really no point to casually resisting anymore, not logically anyway. But some part of Rick still wanted to do it, because… why? To prove something to himself? And he had even less of a clue why he suddenly started doing it at extreme frequency yesterday and the beginning of today. Because it wasn't like he enjoyed being shocked or anything, far from it, it was just… at the time, the alternative had felt so much _worse_.

There was a brief silence, and then Morty gave a small sigh. “I wish I could say I'm surprised. You've made me start considering my options, though.”

Rick's thoughts stopped at that. Wait, what?

“I could just wait a little longer,” Morty continued. “You won't admit it, but you're in a pretty poor state right now. It would probably take only, what, two weeks? Three? But that's the thing, Rick.” He finally turned to look directly at the man, and there was something resigned in his expression. “Keeping an eye on you is _tiring_. Entertaining, sometimes. But mostly, I'm just worn out. A few more weeks of this isn't really something I'd enjoy dealing with.”

… Morty had _never_ come this close to admitting weakness before, especially unprompted. A cold, crawling sensation was creeping up on Rick as the seconds trickled by. Fuck, where was this going?

“I could do it, if I had to,” Morty said, in an almost matter-of-fact way. “You're hardly the worst Rick I've put up with. Still, it leaves me wondering… it would be nice to speed the process along, wouldn't it?”

Then the pain hit before Rick could react.

It immediately sent him reeling from its unexpected intensity. It was _so much worse_ than all previous shocks, in a way that he didn't even realize was possible. It was more than simply every nerve in his body being set on fire. It was that deep nauseating sensation of his bones being cracked and broken apart from the inside out, fragments spreading out and lacerating his tissue until everything was shredded. His senses short-circuited, blinding him. There was only pain.

Rick didn't even realize that he had outright collapsed until the agony receded slightly, allowing him to somewhat regain awareness of his surroundings. The dull ache from hitting the ground was almost invisible compared to the fading shock. But something was wrong. The pain wasn't leaving. Instead of ebbing away completely, it held at a fixed level, churning across his skin like a flame.

“That's the convenient thing about simulated pain, isn't it?” Morty's voice was somewhere far away, no louder than before, and yet it cut into the haze of Rick's thoughts like a knife. “It can be exactly as strong or drawn out as it needs to be. Maybe the constant level from before was leaving you too comfortable.”

Rick wanted to protest the idea that those prior shocks could ever be considered “comfortable”, but he couldn't piece together a coherent response. Every instinct and reflex of his was screaming to _get away_ but there was nowhere to escape to. His body was shivering violently and his breathing was coming in kind of funny, and that was a bad thing, wasn't it? Distantly, he could hear footsteps walking up to him, stopping merely a few feet away.

“But, obviously, pain by itself isn't sending the right message anymore. Really, this is just me being self-indulgent. So let's try something else.”

A wordless order constricted around Rick's mind like a strand of barbed wire. He flinched away mentally, but his thoughts blurred with that sense of _have to_ and before he knew it his body was moving, pushing itself up. The pace was slow and staggered, hindered by the pain that flared up when he so much as shifted a limb, but eventually he managed to get himself in a kneeling position. He was slumped and breathing harshly, his vision darkening at the edges as he stared at the ground. He felt like he might faint.

Rick could tell Morty was watching him. It only took a few seconds for the teenager to speak up again. “… It was painful doing that, and yet you can't do anything else, can you? That's what you're not getting, Rick. You can resist all you want, but you never affect anything when it matters. So then--” There was suddenly a harsh pressure around Rick's collar, causing his breathing to hitch as he was dragged upward, fingers digging into his shirt with unexpected strength. His gaze was forcibly locked with Morty's as his body was yanked up and his head tilted back. “ _Why are you still doing it?_ ”

Rick's stomach dropped the second he recognized the look in Morty's eye. Unblinking, intense focus, with a cold fire behind it that hinted of something just barely suppressed beneath the surface. Like there was a ticking time bomb of anger and frustration leaking out more and more as the situation progressed.

Morty had never raised his voice, never broke from his usual cadence, and yet it was chillingly obvious that he was absolutely _pissed_.

Too paralyzed with fear and too disoriented by pain to respond, Rick hung there with shallow breaths, desperately hoping beyond all reason that Morty wouldn't kill him. The stare held for a moment, then the teenager's expression became more guarded as he let Rick sag in his grip somewhat. “… Maybe I just haven't made myself clear,” he said, almost to himself. “I could never get through to you before, so I'm not getting my hopes up now. But it's not like you have a choice in the matter.”

Rick mentally twitched as he felt a pressure forcing itself over his brain, pushing him down, although he was far too dazed and weak to attempt actual resistance. All he could think was _no no no no NO NO--_

“Listen,” Morty said in a stern tone, although it sounded weirdly distant. “You're not actually stopping anything here. I'll get what I want no matter what you do to get in my way. But you continue to make things difficult, you _will_ be replaced with another Rick who's more cooperative. _Do you understand me_?”

Rick couldn't think. It took a moment, like his vocal chords were sluggish from disuse, but the pressure intensified and he spoke out in a hoarse voice. “… Yes.”

“Who is the one in control here?” Morty asked.

“You are.”

“ _Who do you belong to?_ ”

“You.”

The pressure around Rick's brain and neck released simultaneously, letting him fall back down to the ground. His body caught itself on his hands and knees, breathing labored. The constant pain was finally fading, too, leaving a numb feeling in its wake. He tilted his head up to see Morty's back turned to him as the teenager walked away, slipping the remote back into his pocket.

Now that he was finished with Rick, Morty seemed to be turning his attention back to the drones. They had just finished deconstructing the last of the spacecraft, and they hovered in the air on standby. All that was left of the original wreck was a large, oddly shaped indent in the ground.

But that was hard for Rick to care about, at least at the moment. He was weak and empty-feeling, and he felt disconnected from his surroundings, with everything being somewhat blurry. He was unable to do much but focus on his gradually steadying breathing and trying to hold himself together. To not crack any further than he already had.

It looked like Morty was cracking, too, but just a little bit. Just enough to suddenly snap and take out his frustration on Rick, before relaxing and then returning to business as usual. And even then, he still didn't completely lose his composure or lash out in a physically damaging way. Nothing had pushed the teenager far enough for him to lose his sense of self-restraint, it seemed.

It was like this whole thing had become an endurance match between the two of them. Each move they made, intentional or not, was systematically working to wear the other one down. To eat away at their resolve until something broke.

And, deep down, Rick knew which one of them was going to break first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> evil morty's just mad that evil rick insulted his cooking skills


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw I thought this chapter would end up being like 6k words but it ended up being more than double that. so strap in, folks, it's a big one
> 
> **MAJOR warning for graphic descriptions of violence and injury in this chapter!**

The construction of Morty's largest project began the following morning.

Apparently those brief trips to other dimensions had been for the sole purpose of locating a construction site, one which was even more remote than the bunker. The location settled on was the swamp-like planet with the glowing vents, although Rick couldn't imagine what made it stand out from the other options. Morty identified a large, flat stretch of rock that would serve as a stable foundation, and, after uploading the blueprint of the spiked dome to the drone fleet, immediately set the machines to work.

Even in the early stages of it being built, Rick's first impression of the building was just how utterly _massive_ it was. It was taller than a twelve-story building and almost equally as wide, and it was looming and intimidating in a way the original sketch hadn't even started to convey. What did Morty have planned that required it to be so big?

The sheer scale of the operation also seemed to be the next major hurdle, however. After a couple days of construction, the drones had only built the foundation and skeletal frame of the building, as well as temporary fencing around the perimeter to keep out wildlife during the process. The drones' supply of material was supplemented by a few more derelict wrecks Morty had located and stripped to the ground, as well as the crates of scrap metal Morty had in the bunker, but it was clear that it wouldn't be enough. They'd need to hunt for larger, harder-to-access sources of metal, titanic wrecks and ruins made of sturdier and more complex materials, assuming there were any in the galaxy that hadn't been looted or salvaged already.

Not to mention that any good stronghold needed power, and there was barely even an electrical grid installed yet. Morty had enough wiring and cables saved up to get a head start, and the less corroded electronics from the wrecked spacecraft marginally helped, but none of it would do anything without a reactor or generator.

During the construction period, Morty had been surveying the site and cross-examining it with the blueprint, making sure everything was proceeding as it should. Rick was made to do the same, presumably so that they could cover more ground, and since he was handed a spare copy of the schematics he actually had been allowed to look at the blueprint in detail.

Rick didn't process the implications of that at first. It wasn't like he was in the most coherent mindset to begin with, especially since he'd barely even recovered from Morty's most recent punishment. It left a small part of him wondering if there was even a point to deciphering the boy's plans anymore. But soon enough, his curiosity got the better of him, and he started looking at the blueprint in more depth. There was something relieving about how, even with the sluggishness and restrictions, Rick's mind remained sharp enough to glean plenty of information from a mere skim of the sketched-out design.

From the blueprint, Rick determined that Morty wanted a particularly advanced source of power for the new base-- a large, high-yield fusion reactor at the heart of the building, one that would require industrial-grade deuterium cores as fuel. Those types of reactors were only found on the most advanced space cruisers and battleships, and they degraded within hours in the event of a crash. So, unlike the metal exterior, they couldn't loot the materials from old wrecks. To get the materials for the reactor, they had to target either an active ship, or a recently crashed one.

Both options sounded incredibly dangerous, and Rick almost thought that Morty wouldn't risk it. It wasn't like the kid was openly sharing his thoughts on the matter, but surely he would weigh the costs and decide to switch to alternative, lower-yield sources of power. The blueprint even indicated that a few auxiliary generators would be put in corners of the base, harnessing whatever gas was coming out of those vents, so alternatives were already being considered, in the very least.

Clearly Rick underestimated Morty's determination, though, because it wasn't long before they were gearing up to take down a ship.

They hadn't prepared this heavily for a single outing since the venom hunt. Both of them slipped on a lightweight, fabric-based body armor over their clothes, which wouldn't be strong enough to absorb all hits, but it was definitely capable of dulling the impact of plasma projectiles. They had a laser cutter for slicing through sealed doors and compartments, as well as a strange handheld device that Rick recognized as a tool for measuring long distances and mapping out immediate surroundings. Rick was made to wear a backpack large enough to fit a single drone, allowing them to deconstruct and store the materials once they were finally located.

In addition, Morty had re-equipped his laser rifle, and both of them were armed with plasma guns. Rick was also given three specialized grenades to fasten on his belt, which he couldn't help but feel was somewhat overkill. All this told him was that Morty was expecting the possibility of significant resistance and was preparing accordingly, if worse came to worst.

When Rick passed through the portal, he wasn't quite sure what to expect. An operational spaceship could be located practically anywhere, although he really doubted Morty would take them directly to the empty void of space. And that easily proved correct, since the first thing he noticed upon stepping out of the portal was breathable air and the sharp glare of the sun. It was nearly blinding after all those days spent indoors, so it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

Once his vision cleared, he saw that in front of them was a vast, flat expanse covered in rubble and twisted metal, as if it were the flattened ruins of a large city. The ground was dry and looked almost scorched. Strong gusts of wind battered what remained, almost being loud enough to drown out the distant sound of explosions coming from somewhere high up above.

Morty looked up, and Rick followed his gaze. It was somewhat difficult to make out because of how far it was, but in the highest reaches of the sky, just barely beneath orbital level, was a fleet of massive star cruisers engaged in battle. The opposing fleet was made of significantly smaller ships, but it compensated with sheer numbers and its attempts to directly swarm the enemy. Flashes of missiles and laser fire reflected off of the dusty clouds, as well as the flicker of shields and the occasional combustion of a ship's engines.

There was a sudden howling, screeching sound, steadily growing in volume. Rick's head jerked up just in time to see one of the small ships plummet out of the upper atmosphere, one of its wings torn off and smoking. It crashed only a couple hundred meters away from them, making the ground shake and nearly knocking the two of them back as it erupted in a blinding, fiery explosion.

Well, even if that ship had a usable fusion reactor, they weren't salvaging anything from _that_.

Despite the danger, Morty was undeterred. He glanced back at the sky as he withdrew the distance-measuring device from his pocket. He pointed it up and pressed a button, and it took a few seconds for Rick to figure out which ship in the cluster Morty was even targeting. It turned out to be one of the star cruisers, a particularly well-protected one in the back of the formation that didn't seem to be under as much fire.

After a short pause, something appeared on the device's display, and Morty pulled it back to examine it. Rick felt another command tug at his brain, prompting him to enter a new set of coordinates into the portal gun. Then he aimed and fired a portal against the ground, creating a glowing green pool among the rubble. Morty readjusted his grip on his laser rifle, holding it at the ready as he jumped in first. Rick's plasma gun was similarly poised as he jumped in barely a second afterward.

Rick landed on his feet in a smooth metal hallway with tiled floors. Pinpointing the ship's exact position was tricky, but considering he wasn't falling through the sky it looked like Morty had successfully pulled it off. Everything was bathed in a reddish glow as warning lights flashed and alarms blared, warning of outside attack. The surrounding area was empty of any inhabitants, and there was no indication that the ship had been alerted to the two intruders who just came on board.

From looking around, Rick could definitely tell that this was the sort of cruiser that would have a large fusion reactor powering it, even if the exact model number escaped him. A jerk in his mind ordered him to head down the hallway, with Morty staying close behind him. They moved quickly yet carefully, running down long empty corridors and checking around corners. It made sense that Morty didn't want to attract any more attention than necessary. Despite the intense preparatory work, it would be suicidally stupid to run in with guns blazing.

Still, even as they avoided attention best they could, encountering a few aliens was unavoidable. The inhabitants of this ship were bipedal and multicolored, with smooth and swollen appendages and many front-facing eyes. With the rubbery texture of their skin and rounded features, they almost looked like large balloon animals brought to life. If it weren't for the fact they were visibly armed, they'd probably look laughably nonthreatening, although Rick knew that appearances could be deceiving.

The individuals they ran into seemed to be low-level crew members that were hurriedly moving around the ship, and they clearly weren't expecting intruders. The alien's eyes would widen and their colors would drain to a pale gray, but before the poor bastard could sound the alarm, either Rick or Morty would silence them with a well-aimed blast to the chest. The resulting corpse would probably give them away regardless, but at least it bought them some more time.

After a short while, they eventually found the power room, mostly thanks to the measurement device's ability to generate a low-resolution map and triangulate the right position. The room had a distinctive, thick metal door bolted over its entrance, labeled with several warning signs. It was sealed tightly shut, only able to be opened via some sort of card scanner on the side. Rick figured the code wouldn't be hard to crack, only a half hour of work at most, but as usual Morty took the more direct approach. In this case, that meant making Rick laser-cut a hole in the door and then kick it down.

The room was fairly large and open, about the size of a gymnasium. Strangely, there were no aliens around-- perhaps they had been called away due to the attack. Various control terminals lined the edges of the room, and multiple inactive generators were set up in interlocking patterns against the far wall, framing a large structure which was unmistakably a fusion reactor. Surrounded by protective glass and held in place with metal supports, a series of interlocking coils channeled a blinding and crackling plasma, casting the room in a faint glow. Cylindrical deuterium cores were tightly sealed in ports along the reactor's sides, supplying it with a constant supply of fuel.

Rick felt another rough jerk in his brain and he deposited his backpack on the floor, immediately opening it up and removing the drone. He put it down on the floor and handed the corresponding controller over to Morty. Immediately after, Rick received another highly specific order to re-equip his backpack, walk over to one of the terminals, and find a certain switch. After studying the numerous contraptions for a moment, Rick found it-- a lever labeled with alien symbols, approximately translating to _"primary reactor shutdown"_.

Ah, so that's what Morty had planned. It would be too dangerous to deconstruct a fusion reactor when it was still active, after all. Rick had just enough time to wonder if it was really a good idea to shut it down while they were still on the ship before he pulled the lever.

The room gave a shudder as the reactor vibrated and made a deep groaning sound. Its lights started to fade out, and a new, second alarm flared up from somewhere on the ship's intercom, protesting the sudden loss of power. The other generators, previously inert, flared to life as they struggled to make up for the disabled reactor's output. It'd be enough to keep the ship airborne, at least, even though Rick couldn't determine how long it would last for other things.

Morty promptly sent a command to the drone, but instead of it descending upon the reactor like a feasting vulture, it flew around and started tearing apart the metal tiles on the wall. It removed a decently sized portion before zipping over to the entrance of the room and rapidly building a barrier over the doorway. The resulting metal barricade was hasty and ugly-looking, but it seemed sturdy enough to hold. Definitely would stop any unwanted company from responding to the alarm, even if it blocked the exit in the process.

Rick was almost unnerved by how organized everything was, but by this point he couldn't be surprised-- it was just how Morty operated. Still, Rick couldn't help but think that if _he_ were in charge, he would barely give a shit and make it up as he went along, and it would probably work just as well. After all, the more complex a plan got, the more vulnerable to outside factors it became. He wondered how much Morty took that into account. The kid had proved himself to be rather adaptive, frustratingly enough, but surely there were limits to what he could control.

The drone didn't need any further commands for it to fly over to the reactor and start tearing it down, piece by piece. It started with the deuterium cores, followed by the complex alloys, shielding, and wiring of the reactor's interior. Some of the non-essential materials were left behind like the picked bones of a carcass. The AI of the drone was only about as smart as a trained rat, but it was at least perceptive enough to figure out which materials were to be deconstructed and which were to be ignored.

The reactor was almost completely disassembled when the ship gave a particularly violent tremor. The room tilted and swayed, lights flickered, and a few chunks of ceiling tore loose and fell in piles of rubble on the floor. Rick automatically ducked and covered his head, though he wasn't sure if it was because of instinct or programming. He'd probably have done it regardless due to his thought process being along the lines of _shit shit shit shit shit shit_ \--

The shaking soon subsided, and while there were sparks and wisps of steam coming from behind torn-off wall panels, no further damage was done. Even the alarms were starting to subside, though Rick couldn't imagine why. If there was ever a time for the alarm system to blare louder than ever, now was it. Maybe something in the speakers broke?

There was the sound of movement behind Rick, causing his head to turn. Morty was getting back to his feet with a grimace of pain, readjusting his grip on his rifle. _Fuck_ , Rick thought. It would have made his day if the asshole managed to get crushed by a piece of falling ceiling, but apparently even that was too much to hope for.

Morty cautiously surveyed the room, as if assessing the damage. After a few moments he appeared to deem it safe enough to resume, as he sent a continuing order to the drone. Whatever that tremor was, the ship didn't explode, which was apparently the bare minimum for Morty's workplace safety standards. The kid was damn stubborn, if nothing else.

The rest of the reactor was eaten away within a minute. Honestly, they could probably stop there. The fusion reactor had been Morty's primary target, at least from what Rick could tell, and unlike most of the other components of the dome-base, its materials were nearly impossible to source from anywhere else. Perhaps it would be wiser to take what they had and retreat before the situation escalated further.

But, on the other hand, the reactor wasn't the only valuable part of the ship that they could get away with stealing. Sensors, insulators, specialized wiring... it would all be incredibly useful for Morty's project. And while obtaining them elsewhere was possible, locating substantial amounts that were intact and high-quality enough to be useable would still be tedious. From the way Morty was eyeing the exposed capacitors and wiring underneath the damaged parts of the room, it seemed like he wasn't planning to give up an opportunity that was right in front of them.

So, to Rick's utter lack of surprise, he was ordered to start prying open the panels on the surrounding terminals. He really was just spare muscle on this mission, wasn't he? The shaking from earlier had already done some of the work for him, but there was still plenty of terminals that were pristine and intact. When he couldn't pull the panel away with his bare hands, he used the laser cutter to break through. This allowed the drone to immediately swoop down and start deconstructing the valuable internal components without having to waste time eating through the exterior metal.

The drone even started disassembling a couple of the auxiliary generators, putting even more strain on the ship's power supply in the process. The generators sparked and fizzled in response to being deconstructed, but they didn't seem unstable enough to require a full preemptive shutdown like the reactor. As long as the drone didn't get too greedy and take more than necessary, the ship would still have enough juice to stay afloat.

This went on for about five minutes before there was a loud bang on the door.

Rick froze. He figured Morty had a similar reaction, even though Rick couldn't turn to see exactly what the kid was doing. There was a distant tap of a controller, followed by the drone whirring and pausing in the air. For a few seconds, everything seemed to have stopped.

There was another bang, even louder this time, followed by something that sounded like sizzling. Before Rick could fully register what was happening, Morty was grabbing his arm, sharply dragging him to a narrow space behind a collapsed terminal. Rick almost protested at that-- why does Morty have to keep fucking _touching him_ \-- but like most of his recent impulses, it was too unstable and fleeting for him to fully act on.

They crouched down behind the cover, hiding them from view of the doorway. The drone made a faint whistling noise as it flew over to join them, landing silently on the ground and powering off. There was a subdued but urgent push in Rick's brain, and he picked up the drone and carefully returned it to his backpack. Morty peered around the corner of the terminal with his finger on the trigger of his rifle, looking straight at the door. Rick was made to do the same, grip equally as tense on his plasma gun.

A red-hot glow appeared on the barricade, then a door-sized chunk of metal was punched through and fell to the ground with a clatter. Stepping into the room was a red alien crew member, wielding their own laser cutter. They had an exhausted and panicked look on their face as they surveyed the room, and they let out an almost comical squawk once they saw the gutted reactor.

Another alien came in through the door-hole, this one being colored yellow. The red alien started animatedly conversing with the yellow one in a gibbering, nigh-incomprehensible language that even Rick couldn't entirely parse. He noticed that both of the aliens had ray guns on their belts, and the red one had a different uniform than the yellow one. Perhaps it indicated ranking, or something else that was equally useless.

Whatever the case was, neither of the aliens seemed to notice their hiding spot. The red alien kept gesturing at the reactor and the multiple destroyed terminals, while the yellow alien looked almost exasperated, like this ranting had happened many times before. They cut off the red alien's speech with a sharp retort, then they put a limb on their ray gun and stepped further into the room. In the corner of Rick's eye, he saw Morty tighten his grip on his rifle.

Then there was the sudden sound of a weapon blasting from behind, and the red alien jerked. The yellow alien spun around in time to see a hole in the red one's stomach, leaking brightly colored blood as their body collapsed to the ground. The yellow alien raised their weapon, but before they could fire it there was a _thwip-thwip-thwip_ and three spiked objects pierced straight through the their chest. Their body fell to the ground with a thump.

Rick was taken aback. Neither he nor Morty even did anything, so _what?_ His immediate questions were answered soon enough, though, as an alien dressed in dark body armor stepped through the hole into the room. It was wielding a plasma weapon, which was still smoking at the tip. It looked around the room, then made a loud, grunting click, which seemed to summon movement from behind. Soon afterward, a small party of about seven additional aliens entered the room.

They were instantly recognizable as intruders, mostly because they weren't even the same species as the previous aliens. They looked like a mutated mash-up of a pig, porcupine, and frog, although comparing them to any Earth animal was generous. Their chalky skin was rubbery, hairless, and wrinkled, almost like melted wax, and their small eyes bulged out of the sides of their squashed heads, looking like they would pop out any minute. Most of them were wearing body armor that covered their whole torso, but several had their backs uncovered, revealing rigid spikes that looked razor-sharp to the touch. Not only did these spiked ones lack plasma guns, but scythe-like weapons were attached to their arms from the elbow down, presumably to be used in close combat. Those spikes looked like they could be shot as projectiles, too, based on what killed the yellow alien.

The alien in front, perhaps the leader of this raiding party, lightly kicked the bodies of the dead crew members, turning them over with its foot. It then barked an order at somewhere behind it, once again in a language that was too scratchy and incoherent for Rick to understand. Christ, had these assholes ever heard of universal translators? The other raiders started to slowly spread out, searching the room, with a few standing guard by the door. They were giving weird looks at the empty space where the reactor was supposed to be, and Rick supposed that, plus the presence of the red and yellow aliens, was what made them suspicious that there might still be others in the room.

Of course this ship had to get boarded. Rick wasn't actually frustrated by this turn of events-- this was a problem for Morty, not him. Really, the sudden stroke of bad luck was almost enough make Rick start laughing uncontrollably. He stopped himself though, both because he remembered _oh wait I can't_ _actually_ _move_ _,_ and because he realized that he was finding things irrationally amusing again. But come on, it really _was_ funny this time, wasn't it?

Though, in between thoughts of how hilariously ugly they looked, Rick was wondering how these aliens even got on the ship. Any cruiser this big was almost impossible to board, both due to automated defenses and the shields shearing off any unauthorized ship that attempted to dock. Morty had cheated past this by using the portal gun, obviously, but anyone else was going to have a difficult time.

But then, Rick remembered how the ship had a violent quake earlier, not long after they had shut down the reactor. It made sense that the shields wouldn't be able to stay functional after the reactor went down-- the auxiliary power granted by the generators simply wasn't sufficient. If a ship from the enemy fleet noticed the lack of defenses, they may have decided to capitalize on the opportunity.

Both Rick and Morty slipped further behind the cover, losing sight of the aliens but also better hiding themselves from view. Unless the raiders had a deceptively good sense of smell, it would probably take a while before they were found. God, Rick _wished_ they were found. These newcomers definitely appeared to be hostile, and any sort of violent confrontation would fuck up the situation for Morty even further.

Speaking of which, Rick wondered exactly how Morty was going to handle this sudden snag in his plans. They had _mostly_ gotten what they came for, so Rick almost expected Morty to leave right here and now. The sound of the portal opening up would most likely alert the aliens, but there was a good chance they could still jump in before they were shot at or followed.

But seconds trickled past, and they weren't moving. Rick looked to the side and saw Morty holding his rifle at the ready, not budging an inch. Following that, Rick readjusted the grip on his own weapon and held it defensively, fully prepared to shoot in case of an attack, but at the same time he crouched down and held himself as still as possible to avoid making any noise. And for a few seconds, Rick didn't understand why Morty hadn't ordered him to take the portal gun out of his coat so they could leave. But then it clicked.

Morty was taking a gamble here, mostly born from an almost greedy level of opportunism, but there was a hint of rational risk assessment present as well. Right now, there was a solid chance that they could just wait out the aliens. There was probably little of value for the raiders in this room, meaning that Morty could keep hiding and go back to harvesting the remainder of the materials once they left. It also lined up with how Morty had always been frugal with his portal usage, a pattern Rick had picked up on but hadn't fully internalized the meaning of. It was like Morty was trying to make the most out of each trip, and refused to leave until it was shown that it was absolutely, _absolutely_ necessary.

So they waited, and a few tense minutes passed. From the shuffling footsteps and irritated vocalizations, Rick figured the raiders' examination of the room was going slowly but not exactly thoroughly. A couple of them didn't even seem to bother, instead standing around and conversing among themselves. It was like they were skeptical that they would even find anything worthwhile in this wrecked room, and for the most part they wouldn't even be wrong.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Rick saw movement. He tilted his head to see a raider alien examining the ruined terminals, not far from their hiding place. From this angle it most likely couldn't see him, but the proximity was still unnerving. Suddenly, the raider jerked its head up, ears twisting. It turned in their direction, and although its squashed face was hard to read, it looked almost... suspicious. It raised its weapon slightly, slowly trotting in their direction.

It wasn't making direct eye contact with their hiding spot, so there was still a very small probability it would pass them over. But, as Rick felt a cold pulling in his mind, he knew Morty was no longer taking that chance.

Rick slowly reached for one of the grenades at his belt. Unlike typical grenades, these ones had adjustable power levels and detonation times, allowing them to be scaled for nearly any situation. Rick turned the dial it so that the power was on the lower end of the scale, then left the detonation timer at default and triggered it to blow. Before the raider could finish approaching their spot, he sharply twisted his body around the corner and threw the grenade as far as he could, allowing it land in the center of the room.

There were surprised shrieks as the device promptly exploded, shaking the floor and knocking many of the aliens back. The raider who had been approaching them was staggered, disoriented by the blast. Almost immediately after, Morty stood from behind the cover with his rifle, taking aim at the raider and firing. Despite being relatively close-range, the blast was powerful enough to tear straight through its body armor and chest, killing it instantly.

For a split second, there was no further movement except for the waning blast of the grenade. The sheer audacity of the surprise attack seemed to bring the room to a deafening halt, and that was probably what Morty had hoped for-- a decisive first strike. And if nothing else, it was a hell of a way to make an entrance.

But the illusion was soon broken, and things escalated _fast_.

The attack had stunned the aliens to an extent, but their retaliation came quickly, with several of them already pulling out their plasma guns and returning fire. Only one of the raider aliens seemed to have outright been killed by the grenade blast, based on the mangled, smoking shape that had been launched against the other side of the room. Another three or four had been knocked down and stunned, and a few of those had even been wounded in some way, but they were already dragging themselves behind wreckage to use as cover.

One alien had been too slow, allowing Rick to kill it with a clean shot to the back of the skull. That left, what, five remaining? Not a bad start. Still, both him and Morty were mostly forced to stay behind the terminal and assume a defensive position, trading shots whenever possible in what soon became a tightly matched gunfight.

Slipping into the combat programming once again felt unsettling. Like before, it difficult for Rick to keep up with what was happening, since it was all too easy to get caught up in his actions and forget he had no real control. At the same time, fighting to maintain complete awareness in a life-or-death situation was rather disorienting. He struggled between the two states for a short while before settling somewhere in the middle, figuring it was easier to just let himself fight and not think too hard about the specifics.

It was almost ironic, because Rick used to _like_ the thrill of combat, or at least he thought he did. He had a few clear memories of basking in the adrenaline rush granted by a particularly dangerous heist or adventure, where he could exercise his superior wit against the face of death. As with many things lately, he was learning that it became a lot less fun when he was forced into it.

There was a burst of heat as a plasma shot grazed Rick's side, making him flinch back with a hiss. His armor had dulled it, thankfully, but the shot had still made a shallow tear in the skin just below his ribcage. The stinging pain didn't seem to slow his body down, as he merely adjusted his positioning and fired another shot in retaliation. As expected, most of the attacks were missing their mark on both sides, but they still applied a great deal of pressure. All it would take was one idiot to peek out from cover at the wrong time for their brain matter to be blasted against the back wall.

That opening attack with the grenade had definitely given them an advantage. The raiders had been taken by surprise and already suffered from a few fatalities, reducing their numbers to something more manageable. Even with the attack being reckless, Morty had secured an actual chance of winning, or at least slaughtering enough of the raiders to drive them from the room.

Another point in Morty's favor was that, by a slight margin, the aliens seemed to have inferior weaponry. Their plasma weapons weren't quite as fast-firing or efficient, and none of them had long-range superiority on the level of Morty's laser rifle. Plus, despite the external intimidation factor, firing spikes from your body and using close-range bladed weapons were too impractical for widespread use in this day and age.

Strangely enough, though, Rick couldn't see any more of the spiked, bladed raiders in the room. There had been a few of them, and he definitely remembered seeing one get knocked down by the grenade, but he didn't remember him or Morty directly killing any. Since those particular raiders had no method of ranged attack aside from the spikes, maybe they were just hiding from the gunfire for the time being.

Though the fight held at a stalemate for a minute, the exchange of fire was steadily slowing down from the aliens' end. Perhaps they were wearing out, which would open up the opportunity for him and Morty to make a forward push and finish them off.

But then there was movement in Rick's peripheral vision. Before he could even fully realize what was happening, his body automatically jumped back to narrowly avoid getting his stomach sliced open by the slash of a blade.

The _what the fuck_ shock of the ambush prevented Rick from initially understanding what he was seeing, why the air in front of him was distorted and wobbling except for a pale and thin outline, but then it flickered and faded briefly, revealing one of the spiked raiders who had gotten way, _way_ too close for comfort.

Oh, so the bladed aliens actually had fucking _cloaking armor_ of all things. Fantastic.

Rick barely had time to shoot back, as he was mostly trying to put distance between himself and the alien's sharp weapons. It wasn't perfectly invisible, so it was still technically possible to aim, but it was nearly impossible to track consistently. From behind him there was a blast of Morty's rifle, which sheared off a portion of the raider's armor and caused its cloaking effect to fizzle slightly. This forced the cloaked alien to temporarily retreat with a pained grunt, giving Rick some much needed space.

It was only now that Rick realized that both he and Morty had been forced out from behind cover, meaning they were now completely exposed to the few raiders who actually had long-ranged weapons.

Rick just barely dove out of the way in time to avoid getting shot by the incoming volley of plasma shots. He was lucky that there were only a few gun-wielding aliens left, since otherwise he'd have no chance of evading it. But with all of the remaining aliens targeting them now, the odds had just sharply spiked in the raiders' favor.

Morty, to his credit, took action almost immediately. With almost inhuman precision, he fired at the ceiling over where the gun-wielding aliens were crouched, causing it to give way and partially collapse. They were immediately forced to cease shooting and flee to avoid getting crushed, scrambling to find another cover spot. Rick was too occupied to take advantage of their vulnerability, but it still gave him and Morty some time to deal with the bladed raiders without risking getting shot.

Another bladed alien had jumped into the fray to back up the first one, forcing Rick and Morty to fight back-to-back to avoid being split and taken out individually. These raiders were faster than they looked, dodging and weaving backwards to expertly avoid plasma bullets. Their cloaking tech made it frustrating to target them, but it also seemed to flicker whenever the raider acted too quickly or too aggressively, making it equally difficult for the raiders to get close enough for a fatal hit. If this was intended as a fight to the death, Rick thought they had pretty decent chances.

But it was clear that Morty's immediate priority was finding new cover before the enemy gunfire resumed, and that meant they were more focused on keeping the bladed raiders out of stabbing distance than spending time killing them. Morty had rapidly equipped his own plasma gun and holstered his rifle to his back, allowing him to better fight in close range. It was a back and forth of shooting at the raiders while simultaneously trying to avoid being herded into a vulnerable position.

To make things more annoying, the raiders weren't entirely helpless when they were forced to keep away, since they'd rear themselves back and snap forward to hurl a bunch of spikes from their bodies. The spikes were spread out and easier to avoid than the plasma shots, but since they looked to be wickedly sharp and the size of knives, Rick really didn't want to let his guard down and get speared by one.

A disturbing benefit of the combat programming was how him and Morty were synchronized, never colliding or getting in each others' way, as though Rick's body could anticipate all of Morty's movements a few seconds early. Thanks to that, the two of them were doing a surprisingly decent job at keeping the raiders back as they moved closer to a protected spot near the reactor, where they could hide and take more decisive action, and yet Rick couldn't help but feel uneasy. This was _even more_ dangerous, being out in the open like this, and if his body didn't get out of the way in time he'd--

And then it hit him.

Wide open area, enemies on all sides, his unexpectedly close proximity to Morty. A situation where a single mistake could have catastrophic consequences.

Rick realized that this was his chance. This was his chance _this was his chance this was his_ _CHANCE_ _\--_

The murderous intent suddenly surged within him like a red-hot wave. It didn't matter that he was long out of practice when it came to resisting in combat situations-- he didn't even _need_ to be calm to fight back now. It all seemed so simple to use the momentum of the combat programming to his advantage and resist at a critical moment. The sheer desperation of it all was almost surprising. Almost.

And it was timed perfectly. His body had been switching positions with Morty, ready to return fire at a raider who was leaning out from behind cover. The gun-wielding aliens had found new cover and were getting ready to attack again, making the ordered retaliation critical for keeping them back. But then Rick shoved _hard_ and his legs tangled mid-step. He lost his footing, and before either of them could react he toppled sideways and slammed straight into Morty, sending them both to the ground.

Based on the startled half-yelp from Morty, the kid had _not_ been prepared for that. They inadvertently fell out of the way of an overhead plasma shot, but that didn't even matter anymore. Rick's full weight collapsed on top of Morty, knocking the air out of both of their lungs. Rick wheezed and felt his programming take control again as his body rolled off and untangled itself, trying to recover quickly before any more attacks came, but Morty took a few seconds longer to start getting up. He must have been severely winded from the impact, temporarily stunning him.

Rick scrambled back into a standing position, backing up to distance himself from the raiders, but it was like he had set off a domino effect. The disruption gave enough time for one of the raiders to take aim, and Morty had barely gotten back to his feet before he was shot directly in his shoulder.

Morty jerked back with a sharp hiss of pain. He grabbed his shoulder with one hand, the other one only loosely holding on to his plasma gun. Bright red dripped down his arm and onto the floor. Even with the body armor in the way, he looked to be pretty badly hit.

Being wounded left Morty completely open to the nearest bladed raider, who, noticing the sudden opportunity, switched its attention away from Rick and reared back in what was unmistakably a pre-spike-firing reflex. Rick felt a powerful twisting in his mind, making him raise his gun in preparation to defend Morty.

Before now, it seemed practically impossible to interrupt such an urgent command, but his intense desperation and anger made it just barely, _barely_ possible. Rick fought and pushed back violently, ignoring the sharp protesting headache and darkened vision, as he forced his body to freeze in place and do nothing. To _not_ do what the combat programming was screaming at him to do, if only for a second. Just for a second, and yet it made all the difference.

Morty attempted to get out of the way, but his movement was impeded by his shoulder wound, and it took only a split second for the raider to fire a volley of spikes. The spread was wide enough that most of them missed, but two hit their mark, piercing and impaling themselves into Morty's lower body with a sickening _thwi-shlunk_ sound. It was enough force to make him collapse to the ground.

It was then that Rick's resistance gave out and his body fired the gun at the raider, narrowly missing its chest but still tearing through its lower side. That drove it back with a screech of pain, but Rick's actions had caught up far too late. Morty was down.

For a second or two, Rick was too stunned with disbelief to react.

... Holy fuck, _yes_ _._

_YES! Yes yes yes yes yes yes YES YES--_

Rick had forgotten what it felt like to actually _win_ for once. Fuck, was it always supposed to be this disorienting? The sheer catharsis alone had him feeling so giddy and energetic he could barely focus on anything else. He didn't even care about the raiders anymore. Hell, let them the finish the job. That would be a _real_ spectacle.

It was a glorious moment, but Rick's jubilation started to fade when he took a good look at Morty.

The kid definitely wasn't dead yet-- he was struggling to push himself up from the floor, but then he made a sharp jerking motion and collapsed, curling in on himself with a pained sound. He was bleeding heavily from where he had been hit, and his injuries seemed to tear open worse the more he moved around. His breathing sounded weak and labored as a puddle of crimson started to form on the ground beneath him.

It was a disturbing sight, no matter how much Morty deserved it. Rick tried not to feel much of anything, but for some reason that sense of nothingness was growing, changing, draining all else. All his previous excitement had withered and vanished, and he couldn't tear his gaze away.

The world around him seemed to slow down and fade, becoming background noise. He felt like he was sinking into a deep pit where all his emotions were being swallowed up, leaving nothing behind except for an intense sort of fixation. His eyes widened.

_[xx_ssggxXx__xxxRUNNINGhhGUARDIANOVERRIDE.EXEkkkkkXXXggshhhxx___xxXXXg__gg__]_

Everything snapped into place.

It was so crisp and clear now, so easy for him to think. A strange rush seemed to fill his system, energizing him like a shot of adrenaline and accelerating his thought processes. There was no panic, no feeling. Everything had been placed into sharp focus, allowing him to do what he needed to do without any questions or distractions.

And what he needed to do now was _move_.

Rick looked up. A raider, no longer entirely cloaked, was approaching Morty, pulling back its blade for a finishing strike. It all seemed so slow and simple to intercept. But there was no time to waste, and his reaction was almost instinctive as he rushed forward and jumped in the way.

Rick only had a small amount of time to brace himself before the scythe connected. It sliced in an upward arc, hitting both his chest and face in one smooth motion. He tasted a hot burst of blood in his mouth and felt a gash open up along his body armor, but there was no pain. It was distant. Unimportant. The raider had tried to adjust its aim once its original target was blocked, but that also meant that the attack didn't cut nearly as deep as originally intended.

It didn't matter, because Rick was already retaliating. He swiftly kicked the raider in the chest, knocking it back a meter or two, and before it could recover he shot it almost point-blank in its neck. It gurgled, choking on its blood as it fell to the ground, and Rick switched targets. The other bladed raider was further away, bending backwards in an attempt to fire spikes again, but it was close to the side of the room where the gun-armed raiders were hiding. Good, they were all clustered together.

Rick ducked out of the way of a plasma shot as he reached for his belt, pulling out another one of the grenades. He activated and threw it with nearly perfect aim, allowing it to land right on the floor near the main doorway, and it gave a whirring beep before exploding.

The blast shook the room, causing some of the supports around the dead reactor to fall apart. The doorway and remaining barricade groaned, bent inward, and finally collapsed. Panicked chattering erupted from somewhere behind the explosion. A pipe in the wall broke apart from the blast, causing a hissing cloud of steam to roll out from the front end of the room, lowering visibility down to a minimum. The grenade was an effective deterrent when on a low setting, pushing the raiders back and buying Rick some time. And with the doorway completely collapsed, there was little chance of the aliens calling in backup.

Rick returned his attention to Morty, who was still curled up and bleeding on the floor, barely responding to the movement around them. Kneeling down, Rick wrapped his arms around Morty's shoulders and legs, cradling the teenager's body against his chest so that he was easier to carry. Morty flinched at the contact, his breathing becoming harsher. Once Rick was sure he had him in a secure position, he hefted the boy up. He didn't realize how lightweight Morty was until now.

A plasma shot whizzed overhead from somewhere in the steam cloud, making Rick tense and tighten his grip. Morty shivered a little at the sudden jostling, burying his face in Rick's chest. Rick knew he had to get Morty out of immediate harm's way before he could deal with any of the remaining threats.

Rick quickly navigated through the steam to the back of the power room. The terminals and generators were tightly arranged together, but a damaged section had opened up a small alcove along the edges of the room, forming a tight space between the intact generators and the back wall. It was too small to be secure for combat purposes, but it was well protected enough for a hiding spot, at least.

Carefully, Rick placed Morty down in the corner space and helped him lean back against the wall. Morty had fallen completely silent ever since being picked up. He was tense and trembling faintly, although from pain or cold it was difficult to tell. Everything surrounding his shoulder and midsection was drenched in red. Those spikes had pierced so deeply into his gut that it was difficult to make them out when everything was bloodied.

After a second of thought, Rick took off his lab coat and tightly wrapped it around Morty. Compared to the boy, it was rather oversized and looked almost like a blanket. Rick intended it as a temporary comfort measure, something to help soak up the blood and keep Morty insulated for the time being. Covered up like this, it was almost impossible to tell that Morty had been shot and impaled, aside from the residual bloodstains and strained breathing.

Further treatment was critical, but they weren't safe enough yet. The sound of a plasma shot piercing through the steamy fog and hitting a nearby generator was the only reminder necessary. Rick slid off his heavy backpack, since that would just weigh him down at this point. He primed his own plasma gun and got back to his feet. The raiders needed to be destroyed.

He wasn't worried, though. It would only take him a few minutes.

Rick walked back towards the center of the room. Everything was awash in a pale fog as the steam started to cool, not quite settling as condensation. It was still nearly impossible to see more than a few meters in front of him. Luckily, that restriction would apply to the raiders, too.

Since sight wasn't as useful, he instead stood still and listened. All of his senses felt different. It was as though they were in overdrive, being enhanced and sharpened, allowing them to process information from the surrounding environment almost instantly. He could hear the distant hiss of the broken steam pipe, the occasional sparking from the destroyed terminals. There were creaks and groans from the ship as it strained to keep itself together. He could hear his own breathing, slow and shallow enough to be almost unnoticeable.

But that was just in the background. Aside from that, the room was quiet. The raiders were blocked off from leaving the room, and the second grenade hadn't been strong enough to outright kill them, so they had to be somewhere. It was only a matter of time before they came out of hiding.

Then, footsteps. Rapid, heavy, and growing close. Rick only needed a second to calculate the exact positioning and trajectory of the sound's origin before his arm whipped out and fired somewhere to his right.

There was a crack and a scream. Rick tilted his head to the side to see that he had landed a direct hit on a bladed raider, interrupting it mid-ambush. The plasma shot had pierced through and destroyed the power cell regulating the cloaking armor, causing a violent malfunction across the whole structure. The invisibility effect disappeared and sparks of electricity ran across the wires and plating, causing the raider to collapse and twitch as if it was having a seizure. The electrocution ended after a few seconds, leaving the corpse in an unnaturally twisted position on the ground, and the overwhelming stench of charred flesh reached Rick's nose.

But the raider's scream seemed to have given away Rick's location. The steam flashed as a small flurry of plasma flew past, one hitting the side of his chest and one grazing his leg. Nothing fatal, and a small price to pay for killing one alien and getting the rest to give away their positions.

Rick moved quickly yet silently, sidestepping the next volley of shots with ease. He didn't fire back, not yet. He had already moved himself enough for them to lose track of where he was, meaning he was free to continue approaching, closing the distance so that there was no chance of him missing. He tracked the paths of the next set of frantic, inaccurate plasma shots, like he could see the invisible lines tracing them back to the source. It was all so _easy_.

He aimed with utmost precision and fired three times in a row, just to be sure. He heard the splatter-squelch of plasma connecting with a raider's skull before he ducked to avoid the retaliatory gunfire. It was already much less intense than before. There probably was only a couple of raiders left.

Emboldened by that deduction, Rick quickened his pace through the steam. His reflexes were heightened enough to anticipate when the raiders would fire, allowing him to dodge to the side without losing any of his momentum. He made sure to keep his steps light enough to make it difficult for the raiders to pinpoint his position based on sound alone.

He could tell that he was close to the other side of the room when there was a blur of shadowy movement behind cover. It narrowly avoided Rick's plasma shot and maneuvered within visible distance, revealing itself to be another one of the bladed and spiked aliens, but this one wasn't cloaked. Its armor looked scorched and dented, with traces of the invisibility effect flickering in and out but unable to hold for more than a split second.

Rick instantly figured that this was the spiked raider that had gotten hit by the very first grenade Morty threw out. Because its damaged armor hindered its ability to effectively ambush, it seemed to have switched to wielding a plasma gun and hiding behind cover like its teammates, but now that Rick was in close quarters it tossed its ranged weapon to the side and lunged at him, bladed arms raised and its face twisted into a snarl.

It was too close for him to aim with his gun, so Rick dove and dodged underneath the raider's attack, barely even feeling the air displace where it had attempted to stab him. It also served another purpose, as a plasma bullet shot out of the fog and hit the ground where Rick had been standing a second before. In the corner of his eye he could see another raider with a plasma gun, attempting to assist its teammate in picking him off.

Rick methodically weaved, sidestepped, and ducked around the attacks, making sure to keep the bladed raider in between him and the other alien. He noticed the shooting was far less frequent that way, as if the raider with the plasma gun didn't want to accidentally hit its teammate. The raiders seemed so much slower than before, so much more predictable. They were still a little too agile to shoot when he was up this close, but he managed to get a few indirect hits and grazes in. As Rick moved and retaliated, he could hear his blood pounding in his ears, his breathing fast and heavy. And that made little sense, because he felt so utterly calm, calmer than he had ever been in his life.

The raiders were trying to control Rick's movements and corner him, but to no avail. He wasn't exactly avoiding danger anymore, making him unpredictable enough that they had trouble keeping up. Sometimes he'd move to dodge an incoming hit, but other times he'd stand still or even rush the aliens mid-attack, taking them off guard. Several times he was cut or grazed in the process of getting himself into a more advantageous position, but he didn't care. It wasn't like it slowed him down.

It all came to a head when the bladed raider lunged, and Rick saw a decisive opportunity. Instead of dodging, he quickly leaned over and let the blade slice right across the side of his ribcage. Ignoring how it cut even further into his flesh, Rick tightly wrapped his arm around the blade and forcibly immobilized the alien for the first time in the past forty-three seconds. The raider was perfectly positioned in between him and the other attacker, meaning there was no chance of a plasma shot interrupting him. The raider barely had enough time to struggle and make a panicked noise before Rick blasted it in the head, splitting its skull apart with a squelching crack.

Rick released his hold on the blade and let the corpse drop to the floor just as he whipped to the side, gun primed for a second shot as he fully expected the other raider to retaliate. But there was nothing for him to aim at. The alien was gone, leaving just swirling mist.

He remained patient and almost relaxed. Clearly the alien had panicked and fled once it noticed that Rick had killed off its teammate. He slowly and leisurely circled the immediate area, scanning for any movement. If he was correct in thinking that this was the last raider in the room, it made even more sense that it was hiding. It knew it stood no chance anymore.

And then Rick was shot in the back.

He felt the impact and recoil, how his body jerked forward slightly before going tense, but he didn't feel anything else. It had hit a small distance below the base of his neck, where his armor had just barely protected him. He could vaguely tell that, even though it was a direct hit, the wound wasn't quite deep enough to be deadly, so it wasn't worth paying attention to.

Rick turned around and came face-to-face with the last raider, who had crouched behind a section of the collapsed doorway. It seemed frozen, almost stunned by his lack of reaction, and its eyes widened as his gaze locked on it.

It was so nice that these aliens kept giving away their positions for him.

He only needed a split second to aim and pull the trigger. It was a clean shot through the alien's chest, spraying its dark blood against the back wall and causing it to fall lifelessly to the floor with a heavy _thump_.

Far in the background, the broken pipe had stopped its hissing. The steam was finally starting to settle, leaving droplets of condensed moisture on the terminals and floors. The fogginess was lifting as a result, rendering the power room much more visible aside from a faint haze.

Rick surveyed the wrecked and destroyed room. There were multiple raider corpses, all unmoving. There were the original crew alien corpses, too, lying to rot ever since the start of the fight. In the air there was the growing stench of burnt flesh and iron. Nothing was coming through the collapsed doorway, and the only living sound in the immediate area was his own breathing.

All threats were eliminated. Good.

Rick didn't have time to feel satisfaction, as his next set of priorities took over almost immediately. He was deeply aware of the seconds ticking past, wasting away. With the knowledge that he had something much more important to attend to, he immediately turned around and headed to the very back of the room.

Morty hadn't moved from where Rick had left him, aside from being slumped a little further against the wall. His eye was open, and it flickered in Rick's direction upon being approached, but the pupil was glassy and unfocused. His skin was pale and clammy, and his breaths were coming in shaky and shallow. All signs of going into shock. Rick had to move fast.

Rick gently scooped Morty into his arms, and this time the teenager showed no signs of resistance. He did shiver and cough, though, spitting up blood. That... probably wasn't a good sign. Morty's body felt unnervingly limp and the lab coat was already soaked through in several places, which Rick took additional note of as he withdrew the portal gun from within the folds of the coat.

Carefully balancing Morty on his knee, he set the coordinates and fired the gun against the wall, opening up a portal that bathed them in a green glow. Pocketing the device, Rick proceeded to slip on the backpack that had still been lying on the floor, refusing to let their harvested materials go to waste. He readjusted his grip on Morty and prepared to step through the portal, but he had one last thing to do before they could leave.

Reaching for his belt, Rick detached his last grenade. He rolled the dial until the timer was about a minute long, and then adjusted the power level to be near-maximum. Then, he activated it and threw it as far as he could into the other corner of the room, allowing it to roll along the floor with a clack. It gave off a faint beeping as it counted down. There. Now there was no chance they'd be followed.

Rick got to his feet and turned back to the portal, holding Morty securely as he stepped forward. No point in sticking around and waiting for the grenade to detonate. After all, when it was on a setting high enough to atomize the entire ship, it probably wasn't a good idea to be anywhere in the general vicinity when it went off.

He passed through the portal like a liquid sheet, stepping back into the bunker just as it closed behind him. The main room had been emptied of several boxes and crates since the construction of the dome base began, making it much easier to navigate. Blood dripped on the floor, and for a brief moment Rick felt a faint pounding coming from behind his eyes. He had to fix this.

Despite that, Rick still felt completely calm as he strode over to the mattress bed and laid Morty down on top of it. Not wasting any time, he deposited his drone-laden backpack against the wall and headed to the other side of the room. He dug through a box that he knew contained emergency medical supplies. Everything he needed to do was utterly clear in his mind, as if he had memorized it long ago. He extracted medical scissors, thick rolls of bandages and gauze, sutures, medicine gels, and various syringes of different sizes and colors.

Rick also grabbed a bottle of disinfectant, dousing off his bloodstained hands. There was no time for him to properly wash off. In order to reduce the chance of infection, this was the next best option. Once Rick had sterilized himself as much as he could, he grabbed all the necessary medical supplies and carried them back over to the corner of the room.

Morty looked like he was barely conscious. His eye was half-lidded and he wasn't even moving from where Rick had placed him. Lying down flat on his back seemed to help him breathe easier, but it was still rather stilted, like each intake of air caused him pain. Considering the worst of his injuries seemed to be in his abdominal region, that wasn't too surprising.

Rick removed Morty's weapons and unwrapped the bloodied lab coat from around his body, allowing better assessment of the damage. The gunshot had pierced a moderately deep hole in the boy's shoulder, right under his clavicle. The skin was burned around the edges and it bled at a steady rate, staining the surrounding area. It likely would have been much worse if it weren't for Morty's body armor. It had dulled the plasma's impact, spreading out its energy and preventing it from cutting straight through Morty's body.

The armor clearly didn't do enough against physical projectiles, though, based on the two spikes impaled in Morty's lower torso. Unlike the gunshot wound, the bleeding wasn't as noticeable here, only seeping out slowly and thickly along the edges. Rick figured the damage was mostly internal. Those wounds would almost certainly be fatal if left untreated, but removing the spikes now would be like pulling a plug, causing catastrophic blood loss and only killing Morty faster. They had to be left alone for the time being.

Any clothing on the torso would get in the way of further treatment, so the next thing Rick did was detach Morty's body armor. It was mostly a matter of undoing the straps and latches, but he also had to cut the seams with the scissors to prevent it from getting caught on the impaled spikes. Once that was done, it was easy enough to slide off. After that, he methodically cut off Morty's shirt, which was soaked from both blood and sweat and would be nearly impossible to slip off in a cleaner manner.

Now that the wounds were uncovered and more visible, the next step was to stop the bleeding. Applying pressure to each one would take far too long, especially when Morty had lost so much blood already, but fortunately Rick had access to a much faster solution.

Rick grabbed a lone syringe filled with a cloudy green liquid. Even without checking the label he knew it was an incredibly potent serum, one that was practically impossible to find outside of advanced alien hospitals. He uncapped it and leaned in towards Morty, pressing the needle just outside the region of the gunshot wound. He stabbed and injected it into the underlying muscle tissue, only pulling it out once a quarter of the serum was depleted. Morty twitched at the contact, but it wasn't enough to be disruptive.

The shoulder wound began to give off a soft hissing noise. Rick pressed a wad of gauze against it, allowing it to soak up the remaining blood flow. It was too early to dress the wound completely, so he left the gauze in place as he turned his attention to the impalement wounds. For each one, he took a similar action as before, injecting exactly one half of the remaining serum somewhere close to the site and then waiting for it to spread via circulation.

Rick put the empty syringe to the side as he prepared for the next step. The serum had fast-acting regenerative effects and would work from the inside out, even if it couldn't close up the wounds entirely. It also had the immediate effect of reducing bleeding down to a minimum, so now was an ideal time to remove the impaled objects from Morty's body. But it was still something Rick had to do quickly and with precision. Otherwise, those spikes would end up doing much more damage on their way out than they did on their way in.

Rick planned on removing the more deeply embedded spike first. He grabbed the object with one hand, making sure he had a firm hold even around the slick blood. Pressing his other hand down against Morty's body for stability, he tightened his grip and _pulled_.

An eye snapped wide open. Immediately there was a yelp and spasm beneath Rick, followed by a half-conscious struggle to get away, but the older man was undeterred and pinned Morty down much more firmly. It was only a slight distraction, and there was no time for administering painkillers, anyway. There was a squelching noise as the flesh dislodged and ripped, and after a few seconds the entire four-inch spike was torn free of the boy's gut.

Morty made a strangled noise before falling entirely limp. After a quick assessment, Rick determined that the teenager was still alive, albeit breathing in a shuddering and barely visible manner, so it looked like he had simply passed out from the pain. Not a reason to get distracted. Rick returned his focus to the situation at hand, dropping the bloodstained spike to the side and examining the remaining damage.

The puncture wound was deep and glistening crimson, and although normally it would be gushing a fatal volume of blood, the current flow was almost nonexistent. There was a faint sizzling noise as a steam-like vapor came off of the injury. As expected, the regenerative serum was doing its job, significantly reducing the bleeding as it helped the tissue knit back together.

Rick switched his attention to the other spike, which had embedded itself a little higher on Morty's abdomen. Due to it not piercing as deeply, it was significantly easier for him to get a good grip on it. Morty jerked and trembled when Rick started to pull, but the movement was much weaker and half-formed compared to before. That was probably a reason to be concerned, but Rick wasn't bothered. It was easier to do this with less struggling, after all.

With a wet _shlunk_ , the spike was yanked clean out. Rick discarded it on the floor alongside the first one, and he grabbed the disinfectant and stitches as he evaluated the wound. Like the other puncture, it was unpleasantly deep but bled at a sluggish rate. The serum-accelerated healing would slow down in a few hours, but it would allow for a much quicker recovery in the long run, especially with how it was already repairing the damage to the internal organs. Of course, that was assuming Morty didn't die first. There was always the risk of infection or blood loss or some other factor getting in the way.

Because of that danger, the dressing of the wounds went by rather cautiously. Only now did Rick decide to inject a sedative, although that was mostly because this part would take longer and he needed Morty to be motionless for it. Rick thoroughly cleaned out and disinfected each wound, applying firm pressure to stem what little blood flow remained. Then came the suturing, and after that he pressed medicated gauze against the wounds and fastened the wads in place with thick bandages around Morty's shoulder and stomach.

Finally, Rick took Morty's arm and carefully injected the contents of the last syringe. Something for both the shock and the blood loss. It was a nanobot-based liquid medication, one that would adapt itself to the host's blood cells and temporarily supplement their function, allowing oxygen circulation to be restored to normal levels while the person recovered. Almost like an artificial blood transfusion.

Rick sat back once he was finished. Morty's shoulder and torso were mostly bound in white, making him almost look mummified. He was pale and unnaturally still, his eye being shut, and the only indication that he wasn't a corpse was the faint rise and fall of his chest. Rick stared for a moment or two before determining that Morty was stabilized and no longer in any immediate danger of dying.

Strangely enough, though, Rick could still hear the faint dripping of blood. It took a few seconds for him to look down.

Various cuts, both shallow and deep, littered his body. There were a couple spots where his armor had been torn through or damaged with holes from plasma shots. He tasted residual blood in his mouth and felt how damp his shirt was, how sticky parts of his sleeves and pant legs felt. Most of the blood was crusting or oozing sluggishly, but it was steady enough to be noticeable, and another few drops of blood fell from his sliced-up arm and hit the floor.

… He should probably do something about that.

Rick gathered up the remaining medical supplies, fetched a change of clothes from the cabinets, and then retreated to the bathroom. The door slid shut, and he carefully stripped off his armor and bloodstained clothes. They were too ruined to be useful anymore, and it gave him better access to his wounds for self-treatment. He had time to fully clean himself off now, using the sink to wash his hands of Morty's blood and quickly scrubbing off the rest of his body with a wet washcloth.

He wasted little time as he started to manually clean out and medicate his own injuries. Everything was a little sloppier and less urgent than it had been when he was treating Morty. He didn't inject himself with anything to speed up the process, even though he felt faintly dizzy from all the bleeding. There probably wasn't a lot of serum remaining, and unlike the situation with Morty, this wasn't an emergency. Everything was less important and less vivid than before.

He instead used the medicinal gel, which he knew would be entirely sufficient for closing up his shallower cuts and wounds. It also possessed analgesic properties, but aside from distant aches and stinging that were pushed to the far corners of his mind, he still didn't feel very much pain at all. He didn't question the gel's necessity, though, as he proceeded to the next step of wrapping gauze and bandages around his injuries.

Some of his worse injuries were impossible to reach, particularly the plasma wound on his upper back and the couple of cuts that were close to his spine. He could rub gel into them, but keeping the gauze in place long enough to bandage the wounds was an insurmountable task. There was only so much he could reach on his own, and he decided to just leave them exposed for the time being. It wasn't like it mattered that much in the end.

There was also a particularly deep cut somewhere on the right side of his face, caused by the same attack that carved a gash across his ribcage. It was probably the reason he tasted all that blood earlier, and why he distantly sensed stinging when he tried to move his mouth. It wasn't bleeding a lot anymore, so the most he did was clean it out and rub it down with gel. Like the wounds on his back, the position was too inconvenient for it to be fully bandaged.

Once Rick was sure that his injuries were treated and bandaged enough to not bleed all over the floor, he pulled on his replacement set of clothes, which were practically identical to his previous outfit. He wiped his hands on his shirt and stepped back into the main room. There was still blood and clutter on the floor, but it seemed too distant and unimportant to bother with now.

Rick noticed how the sheets underneath Morty were damp and crusted with blood from earlier. They'd have to be replaced, but that was for later. Right now, all Rick did was locate and lay a spare blanket over Morty to prevent his body temperature from dropping any further. He was stabilized, but with all that blood loss there was always the risk of hypothermia.

Rick then sat down with his legs crossed a short distance away from Morty. He remained facing towards the bed and stared intently, almost vigilantly. Morty's chest was rising and falling at an even rate now, although it was still much shallower than a healthy rhythm. There was nothing else to do except wait for him to wake up.

So Rick waited. Everything was undisturbed and calm. There was no impatience, no urgency, not anymore. Just watching. Waiting.

He waited.

…

…

…

…

Wait.

…

What…

What was he doing?

Rick's breathing remained steady and his thoughts were still relatively placid, but there was a trace of confusion now, like something inside him was starting to strain against it all. A dull, throbbing pain was building in the back of his skull, as well as a stinging ache coming from all over his body. Everything was mismatched and increasingly disorienting. What...? Why...?

It was... it was like his body felt wrong. His _mind_ felt wrong. And yet that feeling was fading gradually, sloughing off and leaving exhaustion in its wake, as though he was coming down from something. From what? Rick tried to move his fingers on reflex, but they were no longer responding to him. None of his body was listening to him, actually.

After a few minutes, the dull ache in his head bloomed into a pounding, splitting pain behind his eyes, and he cringed and bent forward. His vision blurred at the edges and the room swayed. Combined with a vague sense of nausea, it all reminded him of a particularly nasty hangover, the kind where it felt like someone had taken a jackhammer to his brain. His most recent memories were both clear and jumbled, as though they existed separately from everything else. Through the headache, he struggled to _think_ again, to process what actually happened, what was still happening. Why did he have to push himself so hard back there? What had been so urgent?

... Why did he save Morty's life?

Rick froze at that, just a little. A slow, sinking sensation of horror started to build in his stomach.

There... there had been no reason behind any of it. Not a conscious one, anyway. One second he had thought he had _won_ , and the next... every part of his being was moving and thinking with calm purpose. There hadn't been any direct orders or commands that could have triggered it. He just saw Morty bleeding on the floor, and then he... without even thinking, he had _needed_ to...

The feeling of horror was gone, or maybe it was too distant for him to notice the difference. Replacing it was something empty and uncomprehending. Rick's thoughts had slowed to a crawl and were unwilling to move further, like he was standing on the edge of a bottomless pit. Everything had just... stopped.

Rick was still staring blankly ahead, thoughts numb, when Morty began to wake up.

It started with a faint stir, followed by a barely audible hiss of breath. Rick's head jerked up slightly. Morty winced as he shifted in place, then his visible eye blinked open, looking somewhat clouded and groggy. He stared at the ceiling for what felt like a long time, then his head tilted in Rick's direction.

For a moment, Morty looked confused, almost surprised. Then, ever so slowly, his lips curled into an exhausted but victorious smile. The pit of Rick's stomach went cold.

Morty didn't end up punishing Rick after that.

He didn't need to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have officially reached the halfway point of the story! Thanks for reading, and feel free to let me know what you think :)


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